


The Vestige

by Goudlokje



Category: Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Aldmeri Dominion, Angst, Betrayal, Bickering, Comfort, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fighting, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Hurt, Main Quest Storyline, Original Female High Elf, Soulburst, Violence, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22351132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goudlokje/pseuds/Goudlokje
Summary: Step into the life of Alva Solaris, a High Elf Templar who has had the misfortune of falling into Mannimarco's hands. Now that her soul is taken from her she lives her life as an empty shell, she teams up with a band of misfits to retrieve her soul and save all of Tamriel by doing so. Only, this will not be as easy as it sounds.
Kudos: 8





	1. Soul Shriven in Coldharbour

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my story! As you're about to see, I follow the main story line of the Elder Scrolls Online. Alva is my Vestige and together with the Companions she will try to save Tamriel! Here you will see how friendships are born, how people will fall in love, how enemies are made, and how betrayal will tear everything apart!
> 
> Enjoy!

Alva Solaris wakes up with a gasp, her hand flies to her chest as she’s breathing heavily. Her otherwise side swept bangs cling to her forehead due to the cold sweat that has been gathering all over her body. It takes a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dark room that’s lit by only one small fire. The ground is cold and hard. Uneven. Uncomfortable due to the debris that’s sticking this way and that, poking painfully into her. But, paying little attention to that, Alva’s eyes wander around the room. How did she end up here? Where _is_ here? One moment she’s merrily making her way towards the ship that’s harboring the coast of Vulkhel Guard because someone told her there was a benefactor who wished to speak with her... The next moment she wakes up here, with a throbbing headache and a stinging pain in her chest. She feels weird, empty. Like something’s wrong but she can’t tell what exactly. 

Absentmindedly, Alva runs her hand over the ground. Her fingers move lightly over the debris, until she grabs hold of something. The High Elf moves her gaze slowly from the wall to the object in her hand, her golden eyes widen when she realizes she’s holding a human bone. She breathes in sharply, dropping it instantly before she pushes herself away from it, only to stumble into a whole pile of bones and skulls and other debris. Panic rises in her chest, causing her to breath faster and harder. Her head swivels around as the walls seem to close in on her. Alva holds out her hand, a weak little ball of light sputters to life which she then uses to take a better look at her surroundings. 

Everywhere she turns she sees even more bones and skulls. Alva cowers away, pressing herself in a corner, feeling the stares of the empty sockets of the skulls piercing through her. Alva pulls her hand away, causing the little ball of light to dissipate, leaving the room dark again. She presses her eyes shut and she pulls up her knees. The High Elf weaves her fingers through her long blonde hair that’s pulled back in a messy ponytail, rocking back and forth ever so slightly as she whimpers. 

Alva doesn’t know how long she must have sat there, but her sore bum indicates it must have been for a while now. The whimpering died down a long while ago, her breathing slowed down again and she’s sitting still now with her back pressed against the wall. Alva’s arms are wrapped around her knees as she’s staring at the iron bars of the door. She figured she’s in a cell, but how? And why? And _how_? This she couldn’t figure out. 

Every time Alva tries to remember what exactly has happened to her; she ends up in another fit of panic. The episodes drained her tremendously so she just stopped trying. _It’s no use_ . She tells herself. _It’s no use. It’s no use. It’s no_ — A sudden noise snaps Alva out of her thoughts, followed by the distant sound of shouting. “So, I’m not alone after all.” She whispers softly to herself as she raises to her feet. 

The distant shout grows louder and louder, and Alva could swear she hears hurried footsteps approaching. The High Elf eyes the cell door wearily. She wants to check out what’s going on, but she’s scared and tired and is so not up for any kind of confrontation. But curiosity gets the better of her. Once Alva reaches the cell door, she tries to look in the direction of the noise. Her brow creases as she hears more shouts, more footsteps. Louder shouts. Louder footsteps. Then, a small horde of what must be other prisoners, judging by the rags they are wearing — the same rags Alva is wearing as well, she realizes — run past her, deeper into the halls which lead to Auri-El knows where. 

Alva’s lips part just a little as she looks on at the scene in front of her, until — “Whoa, there!” Alva almost jumps out of her skin by the sudden voice, she eyes the tall figure now standing in front of her cell. “Are you alright?” Alva doesn’t really get the chance to reply as the figure pulls an axe off her back. “The name is Lyris.” 

“I’m— I’m Alva Solaris.” 

Lyris nods and after that, she swings the axe in the air, destroying the lock of Alva’s cell. “Well, Alva, I hope you still have some fight left in you; you’re going to need it.” Lyris says, holding her weapon at the ready. Alva reaches out to the door with a trembling hand and steps out of the cell. 

Without any further explanation, Lyris starts to run, and without any hesitation Alva starts to follow. “Hey, wait up! Where are you going?” 

It only takes a few steps before they near a lifeless Dremora. “Dead.” Lyris says. “Must have been the runt of the litter.” While she kneels down next to it to examine it, Alva’s eyes fall on the Daedra’s great sword. She picks it up, and feeling the weight of the sword in her hand, she turns it over. Adrenaline starts to rush through her veins. Alva isn’t a fighter, much to her family’s dislike. 

Her family... Alva remembers them. Their voices. Their faces. The aversion they projected towards her. Alva already was a setback for her parents for not meeting the Altmer standards. For starters she is actually pretty short for a High Elf, which is an embarrassing for all Altmer throughout Tamriel. Contrary to the frequently observed yellow complexion, Alva possesses a more human life skin and tone and her ears aren’t as long and sharp as they’re supposed to be. And to make matters even worse, Alva can’t get the hang of magic. 

Her parents were already embarrassed for her. ‘What Altmer can’t do magic?’ Was something she heard plenty of times. Sometime it was said directly to her, sometimes it was said during an argument between her parents, sometimes it was whispered among the crowd of Summerset as soon she set foot outside. Alva wasn’t going to become a powerful mage like any other High Elf. She knew that, her parents knew that. So, the only thing they saw fit was for her to join the Divine Prosecution. 

Maybe if she became a Prosecutor, she might at least bring _some_ honor to the Solaris family. She would stand as the highest authority of law and order on Summerset Isles, second only to the Queen and her Royal Court. There might have been a little uproar because why would someone, who was everything an Altmer wasn’t supposed to be, belong in a group as important as the Divine Prosecution? But, eventually, her parents succeeded in getting her to become a part of it. There was a whole ceremony at the Alinor Royal Palace, and everybody that mattered was there. The Divine Prosecution, important nobles, the Proxy Queen and even Queen Ayrenn herself. 

The Queen was about to name Alva a Prosecutor, until at the very last moment, Alva decided to back out of it. She never wanted to be a Prosecutor; she only just went with it to make her parents proud for at least once in her life, but she knew she was going to be miserable for the rest of her life. And an Altmer’s life is very long. This was not worth it, and that’s what she told her parents, and the rest of the court as well, on that day, knowing damn well what this meant to their already fragile relationship. 

_How could you do this to us?_

_You are no true Solaris._

_You are a disgrace!_

_You are useless!_

_We always knew you haven’t had it in you._

_You are no longer part of this family._

_You are no longer our daughter._

_Get out._

Alva shakes her head and tightens her grip around the sword. She might not be a Divine Prosecutor like her parents wanted her to be, but she’s not a disgrace. She is not useless, and she was going to prove this. How? She doesn’t know. But she will, one way or the other. 

Lyris looks up from the corpse and locks eyes with Alva only for a second before she raises back to her feet to continue. Somewhere deeper in the halls, they encounter another Dremora. This one isn’t dead though; this one is very much alive and is charging straight towards them. Lyris blocks a few attacks, deals a few blows of her own but then another hit from the Daedra forces her on her knees before it turns his gaze towards Alva. Oh boy... Okay, no problem. Alva has seen her father fight plenty of times. She can do this, it’s not that hard... right? 

The High Elf takes a deep breath, readies the sword and widens her stance. The Dremora is almost upon her now, just a few more steps and— Alva steps aside, dodging the first blow. Then, the second and the third, invoking the Dremora’s anger by doing so. His attacks grow faster and more violent, making it harder and harder for Alva to dodge. She barely manages to dodge another swing of its sword, causing her to almost stumble to the ground. Alva is still recovering when the Daedra deals another blow. There is no time to dodge now, so the only option left is for her to finally use the great sword she is still holding in her hand. So, raising the sword in defense, she parries the blow just in time. 

The Dremora deals blow after blow while Alva keeps blocking them, even though it’s only barely. This is the first time she’s holding a sword — or any weapon, really — and it shows. Another heavy blow from the Dremora knocks the sword from her hands, a kick in the chest sends her flying to the ground. Alva clings to the fabric of her jerkin, drawing heavy, labored breaths. A shadow falls over her as the Daedra stands at her side, looking rather pleased with himself. 

“Watch out!” Lyris warns. When Alva looks up, she sees the Dremora raising his sword, readying himself to deal a final blow. There is not much to be done now. The great sword is out of reach and although Alva is a Templar, her magic really isn’t that great. She can conjure balls of light, yes, but that’s about it, or that’s what she thought. The Dremora grunts as he attacks, and on instinct, Alva raises her hand in defense. A divine lance bursts forth, impaling the Dremora. It stands there, sharing the same stunned expression with Alva. Lyris uses this moment to decapitate him, its body shudders for a second before it crumbles to the ground. 

Alva's still clutching her chest and she struggles to sit up, Lyris walks over and helps her back on her feet. “Are you alright?” She asks. 

“I—I think so.” Alva breathes, then she looks down at her trembling hand, the palm is glowing a faint golden color. 

“You’re a Templar.” Lyris remarks. 

Alva chuckles humorlessly. “I won’t call myself that.” 

“You just stopped a Dremora with a Focused Charge.” 

“I stopped it by accident.” 

“By accident?” 

“I don’t know how I did that.” Alva replies, looking down to the ground. 

“Well, either you did and it saved our lives.” Lyris says and clasps Alva’s shoulder, shaking her a little so she looks up, and when she does, Lyris gives her an encouraging smile. After that, Alva picks up her sword and the women continue down the hall. It doesn’t take long before they run into another Dremora. 

“Let’s see what else your capable off.” Lyris says, nodding in the direction of the Daedra. The creature doesn’t hesitate to charge towards them. Alva takes a deep breath and pushes her hand forward! ...but nothing happens. 

“Uh-oh...” The High Elf whispers to herself and looks down at her hand in panic. 

“Try again.” Lyris says agitated, keeping her eyes trained on the Dremora that’s getting closer with the second. With that said, Alva pushes her hand forward again, but still nothing happens. She draws her arm back, preparing to try once more, but there is no time left as the Daedra is upon her now. Lyris steps in between and blocks an incoming attack. She counters with a few strikes of her axe and after a short battle she manages to strike him down. As if on cue, another Dremora takes its place. 

“Oh, come on!” Lyris growls in frustration. 

The female Dremora holds up her staff, and attacks with a fire blast. Alva and Lyris jump out of the way just in time to dodge it. The women exchange a look, and without saying another word they each take a side to attack from. Alva holds the sword steadily in her hands since trying to use her magic again might not be a good idea now because it doesn’t work whenever she needs it to. 

It takes an elbow in Alva’s face, and a burn on Lyris’s pants to beat the Dremora. Then, the two of them stand back to back, waiting for more of them to come, but after a nerve-wracking moment of silence, nothing more seems to happen. “Let’s get out of here, my friend.” Lyris says. 

They lower their weapons again and head for the door, only to be stopped by a blinding flash of light. Several moths flutter around before a projection of a man appears. And judging by Lyris’s expression, she seems to know the man. “The Prophet.” She gasps. 

“Greetings, Vestige.” The projection says to Alva. “Just like you I’m a prisoner in this place. You must rescue me and I, in turn, must rescue you.” After that, it fades away. Alva’s still looking at the place where the projection just was, her mouth a little agape, her brow knit in confusion. After a short moment, she turns around to look at Lyris, her brows knit even deeper. 

“Who was that?” She asks. 

“The Prophet.” Lyris says. “He’s a prisoner here, too. It was very dangerous for him to speak to you, even for a moment.” 

“Why would he endanger himself to speak with me?” 

“He must think you can help me.” 

“Help you... do what?” Alva asks unsure. 

“Break him out, of course!” Lyris replies casually, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “Believe me, I can use all the help I can get.” 

“Break him out?” Alva echoes. “I’m not sure I can help you with that.” Lyris makes a face as if she’s about to protest, but Alva cuts her off. “You have seen me out there, I can’t even use my abilities whenever I want to and I can barely hold this sword properly.” 

“I don’t care. We got this far already; we can’t stop now. That blind old man is the only person alive who can help us get back home. Tamriel’s a long way from here.” 

Alva sighs and rubs her face tiredly, the determination in Lyris’s voice makes it hard to argue even more. “Fine. Where do we go from here?” 

“These tunnels will eventually take us to the Towers of Eyes. That’s where we’ll find the Sentinels.” 

“What are these Sentinels?” 

“Magical constructs created by Molag Bal to guide his vision in Coldharbour. The Sentinels are connected. If we destroy one, the others will be blinded. With any luck, that will buy us the time we need to free the Prophet.” 

“And how do you propose we do that?” 

“I’ve no idea. Brute force?” Alva creases her brow in worry, and Lyris already knows what that means. “We’ll find a way.” She assures the High Elf. “We have to. Be ready for anything. I doubt Molag Bal left the Sentinels unguarded.” 

“Of course.” Alva breathes softly and runs a shaky hand through her messy ponytail, her side swept bangs fall back into place. She turns her back at Lyris and looks around the place, her eyes flicking this way and that as she’s processing what is going on. Abruptly, she turns back around. “Who... who was that man, really? You call him ‘the Prophet’. But who is he?” 

“He’s a strange one, no doubt about it, but he’s the wisest man I’ve ever met. He sees things. The past, the future.” 

“And— and this place? Where am I?” 

“You’re obvious not in Tamriel anymore. Think of the most miserable, depressing place you have ever been in your life. That’s paradise compared to Coldharbour. And to top it off, well... there’s no easy way to say this.” Lyris hesitates for a moment before she continues. “You’re dead.” 

Alva looks at her like she just got slapped in the face. “ _Dead_?” She repeats. Dead... So, this is how she ended up here? She died? Just thinking about it makes her shudder. “If I’m dead, then how are we having this conversation?” She asks next, her voice just above a whisper. 

“I don’t know. Once we rescue the Prophet, he can tell you about the Gods and the ways of Oblivion. I don’t understand any of it, myself.” Lyris replies calmly. 

“Who killed me?” Her tone of voice made it sound more like a demand than a question. 

“A man named Mannimarco. His Worm Cult is doing some kind of ritual back in Tamriel. They sacrificed you, and everyone in this prison, to the Deadric Prince Molag Bal. After you died, whatever was left showed up here. They call you the Soul Shriven.” 

Alva’s trembling all over her body now. Her nails dig into her palm as she balls her hands into fists. She has been wondering what had happened to her, but this was definitely not what she expected. She’s _dead_ , for Mara’s sake. And now she’s a Soul Shriven? “What does that mean?” Alva asks, now with tears burning her eyes. 

“It means you’re a slave and you’ll spend the rest of eternity here in Coldharbour, working under the lash of the Daedra. Unless of course, you come with me.” 

“Are you dead, too?” Alva wonders. 

“No, I wasn’t sacrificed. The Prophet and I were brought here... conventionally, if that makes any sense. But we’re prisoners here, same as you.” 

“We need the Prophet to get out of here, right?” Alva asks, and Lyris nods in response. “Then, how can we save him?” 

“It won’t be easy. The place is watched by Sentinels. We won’t stand a chance unless we can blind them. I’ll tell you more when we get there. And we’ll never get there if we don’t get moving.” And with that said, the women continue. 

In the next room they encounter the Forgemaster holding up a Soul Shriven by its neck. Alva gasps, drawing the attention of the Forgemaster. They look at each other in silence, until the Daedra throws the Soul Shriven away, piercing it on a spike. Alva almost drops her weapon by this display, but Lyris on the other hand raises hers in anger and charges straight ahead. The sound of grunts and clanging metal fills the room. Alva looks on in anguish, how Lyris can fight with such confidence will remain a mystery to her, but she would be lying if it’s not inspiring. 

The Forgemaster tackles Lyris to the ground, Lyris knees him in the ribs and then she elbows him in the face. The Daedra retaliates with a few well-placed punches of his own, and with each punch, Lyris’s power to fight back decreases. He straddles the half-giant to the ground and grunts out of effort as he draws his sword back to kill her, and when he moves his sword forward again, Alva slices through the air, cutting off his arm. Then, a blinding flash lights up the room before the Daedra gets knocked off of Lyris. Before the Daedra gets another chance to do anything at all, Alva thrusts her sword in its chest, killing the creature. 

Alva swirls around when she feels a touch on her shoulder, she points the sword at the source, only to realize it’s just Lyris. She holds up her hands, instinctively stepping back. “Easy, there.” 

The High Elf drops the sword and starts to pace around, breathing heavily as she runs her hands through her hair again. “This is too much...” She whispers to herself. 

“What was that?” Lyris asks. 

Alva stops and turns to look at her. “This. Is. Too much.” 

“What is too much?” 

“What is too much?” She repeats in disbelief. “What is too much? _This!”_ Alva gestures to the dead Daedra on the ground. “The Daedra, and the fighting and the killing! I’m not cut out for this.” 

“Is anyone, really?” Lyris replies. 

“You don’t seem to have any trouble with it.” 

“I’ve been in battle before. This isn’t any different.” Lyris says calmly and hands the Elf the sword she dropped. Alva hastily wipes away a tear she didn’t know she shed and accepts it begrudgingly. “I know this isn’t easy,” Lyris says next. “but you’re doing a good job. We're both still alive.” Alva glares at her. Lyris doesn’t understand why until it hits her. “Oh! I mean, at least we’re both still... we’re both still breathing!” 

The glare softens and the High Elf rolls her eyes. “So, which way do we go next?” 

When they go through another door, they end up outside. Lyris sees how Alva sags her shoulders at the sight of a dozen more Dremora guards, Clannfears and there are even feral Soul Shriven terrorizing the river. Lyris want to say something, but then she sees how Alva takes a deep breath and straightens her back, gripping her sword tightly. The Elf looks over her shoulder at Lyris and raises an eyebrow. “Are you ready for this?” 

Lyris smiles confidently. “You have no idea.” 

The women run down the stairs and work their way through the guards. Lyris, of course, has a much better time cleaving these bastards than Alva. While she, Lyris, is occupying the guard, Alva uses the little time she has trying to conjure another Focused Charge. How on Nirn did she do that? She's a Templar, but she doesn’t know how to use her power. It is frustrating to say the least. 

Alva's lack of knowledge about magic is another subject on which her parents would berate her. She just knows if they were to be around, she would get the whole lecture of ‘being a failure’ and that she’s ‘good for nothing’ and— 

“You’re getting there, Alva!” Lyris shouts. “Just a little— You need to concentrate! Concentrate... Almost there—almost. Now!” Alva thrusts her hand forward, and attacks a Dremora guard with a ball of sun fire, burning it completely before it turns to ash. 

Lyris pumps her fist in the air. “Ha! That’s what I’m talking about! What was your name, again? Target practice?” 

“Lyris!” Alva says sternly, but the hint of a smile dances on her lips anyway. 

“What? These little skeevers deserve this and so much more!” She replies and kicks the pile of ash at her feet just for good measure. Then she turns back to Alva. “Good job with the fire, by the way. It wasn’t entirely what we we’re going for but it worked nonetheless.” Alva smiles shyly in response. 

Alva and Lyris work their way through more groups of guards and other foul creatures. Lyris is always the first to charge, Alva on the other hand just tries to keep up. The way Lyris moves from Dremora guard, to Clannfear and occasionally a feral Soul Shriven might give one the impression she has actually fun striking them down. While Alva is trying to not get killed—get more killed than she already is? — she watches Lyris closely. She watches how she holds her weapon, how she moves when she attacks or when she dodges, how she always seems to find the perfect moment to retaliate... And using this as example, Alva finds it easier to fight the Daedra as well. At least now, when she tries and fails to use her power, she can use her sword more properly and deal some damage, even if it’s only just a scratch compared to Lyris’s full blows. 

After some time, when they finally seem to get closer to a Sentinel, Lyris stops Alva by her shoulder. The Elf frowns in confusion and asks what’s wrong. 

Lyris looks up at the road which leads to the Sentinel they need to destroy. “Nothing’s wrong. I just need you to do this bit alone.” 

“Wait, what? Alone?” Alva says, already panicking. “Why?” 

“Slow down.” Lyris says with a soft voice. “It’s not that hard. You just need to destroy the Sentinel so we can get to the Prophet’s Cell. Easy.” 

“Right, easy.” Alva breathes and turns to look up at the road ahead, holding her sword in a white-knuckled grip. 

“Alva, one more thing.” Lyris says. “Try to be inconspicuous. We just got free of this place, the last thing we need is to get recaptured.” 

The High Elf nods and moves forward, holding her sword at the ready. It doesn’t take long before she approaches the Sentinel. Alva frowns at the sight of the big eye that is constantly flicking around. She crouches down, out of sight of the Sentinel as she tries to come up with a plan to destroy it. Just charging to it won’t work, it will set its gaze on her in an instance. Sneaking towards it won’t work either, the eye moves around constantly, looking every way. It will still spot her. So, she would need to attack from a distance, and the only way to do that is... by using her powers. Of course. 

Alva sighs, lowering her head. This is really not the time to having to rely on her magic, but there is also no time to waste either. So, with that in mind, Alva takes a deep breath and she closes her eyes as she holds up her hand. _What kind of Templar can’t even use a simple sun fire spell?_ The words of her mother echoes through her head. _What kind of High Elf doesn’t know how to use magic?_ Alva tenses up, tears burn her eyes as she tries to push out her mother’s voice. _Without your powers you are useless to the Divine Prosecution. Without your powers you are useless to us!_ “I am _not_ useless!” Alva growls and moves her hand forward in a punching motion, blasting the Sentinel apart with a ball of flame. 

The force of the blast causes a gust of wind to waft through the clearing. Feeling the wind upon her cheeks, Alva snaps out of the anger that was building up, and just like that she stands up to join Lyris again. Lyris jumps up immediately when she sees Alva approaching. “Quickly, while he’s blinded, we must get to the Prophet’s Cell!” 

Lyris starts running with Alva close on her heels, avoiding Daedra and feral Soul Shriven, they almost reach the door. Lyris reaches out, but before she can get there, a blue flame blocks their path towards the Cell. Molag Bal’s voice booms in their ears. “Fool! You will never escape my realm.” 

"Herma-Mora's wagging tongue!” Lyris curses. “The door's warded. We'll never get in this way." 

“Destroying the Sentinel must have triggered these wards.” Alva says as she’s still looking at the blue flames. 

Lyris paces around, holding her chin in thought. “We’ll need to find another way in. Hmm... maybe Cadwell can help us.” 

“Who's Cadwell?” 

“Cadwell is the oldest of the Soul Shriven. After years of torment, Soul Shriven usually go insane and turn feral, but not Cadwell. He was already insane before he left Tamriel. Mad as a box of frogs, but completely harmless. You’ll see.” 

“How can a madman possibly help us?” 

“Cadwell sees things as he wishes them to be. To him, Coldharbour is a wondrous place. It’s his home. And he knows it like the back of his hand. He’s usually down by the river. Let’s go find him.” Lyris runs towards the small camp some ways further, Alva follows closely by. As they approach the settlement, the sound of a lute fills her elven ears, the words to a song becoming clearer. 

“ _One fine day in the middle of the night, two dead kings got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other, drew their bows, and stabbed themselves!_ ” The old man playing the lute continues cheerfully, and Alva can’t help but notice the pot on his head and how it is tilted a little to the side, making him look rather silly. 

Alva approaches him. “Uhm, excuse me? Sir?” 

“Hello, what’s this? Out for a stroll, then? Lovely day for it.” 

“You must be Cadwell.” Alva smiles. 

“Sir Cadwell, yes indeed. A pleasure! And fair Lyris!” He says, shifting his gaze to her. “Good to see you, m’dear. How are you, then?” 

Alva quickly side glances at Lyris next to her when Cadwell mentioned her. The High Elf then moves to sit down on the bench next to Cadwell. He, in turn, shuffles in his seat to give her a bit more space and looks expectantly at her. “Let me get straight to the point; we’re trying to get inside the Prophet’s Cell, but the door is sealed.” 

“Oh dear, oh dear. Well, that is inconvenient, isn’t it? Tell you what— I happen to know another way in! Much more of a scenic route. Rather a fun little jaunt actually. Full of traps, and corpses, and nasty beasties filling up the bits in between.” Cadwell replies chipper. Hearing these words, Alva should be in despair, giving in to the impossibility of the situation and just give up. But the way Cadwell said that, she can’t help but look at him with the hint of a smile on her face. She likes him already. 

“How do we get through all of that?” 

“Rather cautiously, I expect.” Cadwell replies, earning a soft giggle from the High Elf. “Watch your step, hold your nose and do mind the traps. There’ll like as not be a fair dose of running and skull-bashing as well.” 

Alva takes a deep breath, and let’s it out as a sigh. “Do you know where the entrance is?” 

“Follow the river. You’ll find the door to the Undercroft at the water’s end. Once you’re inside, stick to the light and you’ll find a ladder that will take you right to the Prophet, straightaway. Do give him my best!” 

“Thank you, Sir Cadwell.” Alva says, and glances at Lyris, who nods her head towards the river rather impatiently. But the High Elf doesn’t feel like leaving yet. From the moment she arrived here she was confused and scared— terrified even. Lyris might have been by her side the whole time, reassuring and encouraging her. But she didn’t manage to make her feel at ease — if one can feel at ease in such a place as this — well, not like Cadwell that is. Just his presence alone makes her forget this nightmare, even if it is just for a little. And it must show on her face, because Lyris bends down and lowers her voice to a whisper. “We really need to get moving, we don’t have all day. But we can spare a few more minutes, do make it quick. I’ll keep watch.” 

“Thank you.” Alva smiles relieved and watches her move away from the camp before she turns her attention back to Cadwell. “How do you know Lyris?” She wonders. 

“Ah, Lyris. Girl’s as mad as Sheogorath’s jammies. Heart’s in the right place, I suppose. Says she’s got to rescue the Prophet to save us all from eternal torment. How an old blind man could do that is quite beyond me.” 

“You know the Prophet?” 

“Yes. He’s an Imperial gentleman. Apparently, he was once a powerful mage, but years haven’t been kind. Lyris says he knows of a path back to Tamriel. I rather think that if one existed, I’d have found it by now.” 

Alva’s stomach drops. “You don’t think there’s a way to get home?” 

“I hadn’t actually given it much thought. Anything’s possible, I suppose. Truth is, I’ve been here so long, this place feels like home.” Cadwell turns to look at her, the distraught look on her face is not what he expected so he decides to do something about that. “But a good uprising now and again is a pleasant diversion, so where’s the harm, eh?” That seems to lighten her mood. 

“And who are you exactly, Sir Cadwell?” 

“Well there’s not much to tell, is there? It’s the same old pish-tosh. Gallant knight, epic quests, rescued maidens. I came to this land when my head was quite unceremoniously separated from my body—” 

“Wait. You've been beheaded?” Alva asks next, failing to hide the horror on her face. 

“Yes.” Cadwell replies. “Bad luck that, but you make the best of things.” 

“How long have you been here?” 

“Oh, quite a long time. In fact, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if I was the oldest of the Soul Shriven. Of those who didn’t go feral, that is. I know every gunnel and path, every nook and cranny. The others look up to me, I suppose.” Cadwell replies and continues playing the lute. 

“Lyris says I’m a Soul Shriven as well.” 

Cadwell stops again. “How did you die?” He asks, the otherwise cheerful tone of voice turns suddenly really serious. 

Alva stays quiet for a moment before she speaks up again. “I’ve been sacrificed.” 

“Oh dear.” 

“Yeah. Bad luck that, but you make the best of things.” Alva replies with a wry smile. 

Cadwell chuckles softly, and continues strumming on his lute when Lyris comes back to join them again. “Come on, Alva. We really need to get going.” 

The High Elf takes a deep breath and lets it out as a sigh before she gets back to her feet. She turns to Cadwell, bowing her head. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Sir Cadwell. And thank you.” 

“Best of luck, young lady. Do check in now and again, won’t you?” 

Lyris and Alva follow Cadwell’s directions, and it’s just as he’d told; at the end of the river they find another door. After a few attempts of picking the lock, they manage to enter the Undercroft, only to be greeted by a ridiculous foul smell. Lyris pulls up her nose in disgust. “This place stinks of dead and decay.” 

“And then some.” Alva adds, covering her mouth and nose. 

The two of them make their way quickly through the halls, destroying skeletons and feral Soul Shriven along the way. To Lyris’s surprise, Alva seems to move more confidently now. Where she would otherwise hesitate, she now strikes with determination. Lyris would like to comment on that, but she decides against it in fear this might throw her off. 

Soon, they enter the Prophet’s Cell. Alva’s jaw drops a little at the sight of it all, the Cell looks nothing like the rest of the Wailing Prison. 

“The Prophet!” Lyris breaths, and when Alva follows her gaze, she sees the figure hanging mid-air. Invisible shackles seem to keep him in place. "All right. The good news is, we made it here in one piece and the Prophet looks unharmed. Now the bad news. It's going to be up to you to keep him safe and get him back to Tamriel. I'm not going with you." 

Alva’s head snaps in Lyris’s direction. “What do you mean you're not going with me?” 

"There's a trick to opening the cell. The only way for a prisoner to leave is for another living soul to take their place. I need to swap places with the Prophet." 

“That’s ridiculous!” Alva exclaims angrily. 

“We have no other choice, Alva.” Lyris says, and although she appears to be acting tough about it, Alva can still see a hint of fear in her eyes. 

“There... there must be another way.” 

"Believe me, I wish there was. But... I don't see anyone else here with a beating heart, do you? If Molag Bal isn't stopped he'll destroy everyone and everything we've ever loved." 

Alva shakes her head and turns around to look at the Cell, hoping to come up with something or find any other way to do this. There must be something she could do to stop this. But what? What could she do? What could she do? What could she— 

“Alva!” Lyris says, taking the Elf’s wrist to stop her from pacing. Alva looks at Lyris’s hand before she moves her gaze to lock eyes with her. “It’s going to be okay. You did great, I only need you to do better now.” 

“I don’t know if I can do better.” 

“Of course, you can.” 

“How do you know that?” 

Lyris shrugs and loosens her grip around Alva’s wrist but she doesn’t let go entirely. “Because I have faith in you.” 

“But you don’t even know me.” Alva replies, her voice just above a whisper. 

“I do know you, you’re Alva Solaris.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” Although there are tears in her eyes, she still smiles weakly at Lyris. 

“I know.” Lyris smiles back. 

Alva lowers her eyes to the ground. Lyris holds her chin gently and forces the Elf to look her in the eyes. “Hey.” She says softly. “Everything will be alright. I just need you to trust me.” 

“I—” 

“Do you trust me?” 

“Yes.” 

"Good. Once it's done, get moving. The Prophet will know where to go, but he'll need your eyes, and your protection." 

Then, everything happens so quickly. Lyris takes her place and starts the ritual. Alva fights off two more Daedric guards and activates the two dark pinions. That seemed to do the trick. Alva holds her breath as she watches how Lyris and the Prophet switch places. The Elf moves forward to reach out to Lyris in a form of reflex, but she manages to stop herself. It is done. Lyris is now held captured and the Prophet is now a free man. 

Alva hesitantly joins his side. “Prophet?” 

The Prophet whirls his head towards Alva’s voice. “Thank the Divines, you are safe! There is that, at least. Lyris sacrificed everything, that we might go free. Her sacrifice must not be in vain.” 

Alva looks at Lyris’s limp body in the air, the sight of her fills her with dread. The Elf frowns deeply as she moves her gaze towards the Prophet again. “We can’t leave her like this. Can we find a way to take her with us?” 

“I wish that were possible. But I promise you, once we escape Coldharbour, we will find a way to rescue her together, Vestige.” 

“Vestige?” Alva repeats. 

“That is the name I have given you. You are but a trace of your former self. A soulless one. An empty vessel that longs to be filled. It is as the Scrolls foretold, but not exactly as I imagined.” 

Alva’s frown deepens even more. She doesn’t know what to do with that information, though. What she does know is that she doesn’t like it. Not at all. But what she likes and doesn’t like is irrelevant right now. Alva’s gaze flicks back and forth between Lyris and the Prophet until a question pops up in her mind. “Why does Lyris call you the Prophet?” 

“That is what I have come to be called. My true name is lost— even to me. Years of torment have taken their toll. Quickly now, we must make haste to the Anchor!” 

“What is the Anchor?” 

“The Anchors are Deadric machines of the darkest magic. Their chains bind our world and pull it towards Coldharbour. I can use one of these Anchors to return us to Tamriel, but you must lead me to it.” 

“All right. Stay close then.” Alva replies. And with one last look at Lyris she leads the Prophet to the Anchor Mooring. Only a few steps inside and the ground starts to shake. Alva stops, and on instinct she uses her arm to shield the Prophet from whatever might be happening. Then, Alva’s stomach drops as she sees Molag Bal himself appear right in front of them. “The mortal thinks it can defy me. Futile. Soon your world will be in my chains.” 

After that, he disappears, and in its stead a grand Bone Colossal climbs its way out of the ground. Alva raises her sword and takes on a fighting stance she has seen Lyris use multiple times before. “Come, I will protect you.” She hears the Prophet say before she charges. This time it isn’t fear she feels in her heart, but determination. And although the Colossal might be twice her height, it doesn’t stop her from attacking. Alva grunts out of effort as she strikes down, slicing in the bones of its arm. The Colossal uses his other arm and slams into Alva, sending her flying onto her back. She rolls over several times and loses her sword in the process. 

The High Elf struggles for a moment as she feels a sharp pain in her chest, but that doesn’t keep her from fighting back. Not when they’re so close. Not when Lyris sacrificed herself so they could escape. Alva winces as she wipes blood from her split lip. A newfound anger flares up inside her, giving her strength to get back on her feet. Her sword is out of reach, and her bare fists won’t stand a chance against its bones. So, Alva figures, using her powers must do it. 

Alva takes a deep breath and she straightens her shoulders. She enters a state of concentration where the sound, the Anchor Mooring around her is whisked away. Where she has only eyes for the creature in front of her and where the only sound she hears is the sound of her breathing. Alva feels warmth rising in her chest, which then slowly moves through her whole body until both her palms start to light up in a golden glow. Then, she charges valiantly forward, her eyes ablaze with ferocity. 

The Bone Colossal slams his hand down to crush the Prophet, but Alva jumps in between surrounding herself and the Prophet with solar rays which provide as a shield. When the Colossal slams into the shield instead, his bones start to burn. The creature hisses and pulls away, stumbling backwards. Seeing this moment as an opportunity, Alva moves both her hands forward, conjuring a beam of pure sunlight. She growls out of effort; her hair moves in the wind the beam creates. When Alva pulls her hands back, there is a big gaping hole in the Bone Colossal’s chest. And then, whatever there is left of it falls apart on the ground. Alva wobbles slightly after the energy expenditure, she rests her hands on her knees to recover. 

“Well done!” The Prophet praises. “Now, the Dark Anchor’s portal is high above us. I will prepare a spell to lift us to it. But first, you must re-attune yourself to Nirn in order to regain your physical form. To do this, you will need a skyshard.” 

“What is a skyshard?” Alva asks, still a little out of breath. 

“A shard of Aetherian Magicka that carries the essence of Nirn. Some link to Lorkhan, the missing god of creation. If you collect and absorb its power, it should restore your corporeal form. I will summon one of these shards for you to absorb.” The Prophet moves to the center of the room, and when he holds his staff in the air, a blue beam of light forms around him. “Shard of Aethurius, fall upon us now and anoint us with your blessing!” And when he slams his staff on the ground, a skyshard appears. 

Alva looks at it in awe and moves towards it as if in a trance. She feels like she’s drawn to it, like it waits for her touch. The Elf carefully reaches out to it, and when her hand touches the rough surface of the skyshard she breathes in sharply. An invisible force lifts her from the ground, and so she can absorb its power. It only takes a short moment, and once it’s done, Alva falls down on her knees. The Prophet doesn’t seem to mind her as he runs towards the stairs straight underneath the Anchor and raises his staff again. “Great Akatosh, Dragon God of Time! I require your strength. Let the way be opened, let these wandering souls return home. Let the will of Molag Bal be denied!” With that said, the Prophet turns back towards Alva. “Quickly, we must go now!” He warns before he gets lifted in the air. Alva scrambles to her feet, she runs up the stairs and once she reaches the top she leaps. She doesn’t know where the Prophet’s spell will take her, but everywhere is better than here... 

Alva wakes up with a start. She looks around bewildered and creases her brow in confusion when she realizes she’s inside a small tower. She sits atop a thin blanket, and a little fire burns next to her, providing little warmth. Alva shivers involuntarily. She's cold. Why is she cold? The Elf shuffles closer to the fire and pulls up her legs so she can wrap her arms around her knees. She rests her head as she stares into the fire. 

“The Vestige awakens once again.” Alva’s head snaps up at the sound of the Prophet’s voice, his projection stands only a bit further. “Come, we must speak.” 

Alva gets to her feet and walks towards him. “Prophet... where are you?” 

“As I feared, we arrived in different locations. I am in a city near the sea, in a land of eternal spring. The air smells of the ocean and of markets and gardens. It matters not. You have awakened once again and we must set you on your path.” 

“How long was I unconscious?” 

“Days? Weeks? I cannot tell. The voyage between worlds disrupted all sense of time and space. I know only that you were deposited in the sea, and some charitable soul fished you out and brought you to dry land.” 

“So, you can’t tell for certain how long I’m here already?” 

“I’m afraid not.” 

Alva shakes her head and runs a hand through her hair as she curses under her breath. 

“I can see you are distress.” The Prophet says calmly. 

The High Elf kicks over an empty barrel and turns towards the Prophet’s projection in anger. “Yes, I am!” 

“Why?” 

“Because I’m dead!” Alva shouts in return, now throwing a sack of flour against the wall. Her voice raises with each word she says. “I got killed and my soul was taken from me. Why had Lyris to stop by my cell? Why didn’t she help someone else? Someone more capable? I had never fought in my entire life, not until I ended up in Coldharbour, I had never even held a weapon before! I was so terrified all the time but still Lyris pushed me to go on. She pushed me to do better. I only got so far because of her and now she’s trapped there! She helped me every step of the way, and what did I do? I— I abandoned her! Who knows what Molag Bal will do to her!” Alva covers her face with her hands, her shoulders shudder as she sobs softly. 

“Lyris made a bold sacrifice, Vestige.” The Prophet says softly. “And I will do everything within my power to repay her. We _will_ get her back.” 

Alva looks up again and wipes away her tears. Then, she leans against the wall tiredly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “What do I do?” 

“I’m afraid you will have to decide that for yourself.” 

“Hmm. When will I see you again?” 

“I cannot foresee that. Not yet. But we will meet again. There is still much we need to accomplish.” 

“Tell me about it.” Alva sighs. 

“Be wary Vestige. Our very plane of existence is in peril. The threat of Molag Bal looms across all Tamriel, and chaos spreads in its shadow. Danger roams the land and will assume many forms. Do not let it catch you off-guard.” 

“Where should I go from here?” 

“You must find your own path. But perhaps there is a reason for the place in which you find yourself. Explore. Search for a cause to lend your hand. Join with others. You might even seek out those who rescued you from the sea. The choice is yours.” 

“I highly doubt I would be of any help.” Alva says, lowering her head. 

“You helped me escape _Coldharbour_ . There are not many—no, there is _no one_ , who can say they accomplished that. And I couldn’t have done it without your help. I sense it even now there are good people near you who face grave danger. They need your assistance should you be willing to give it. To thwart the will of Molag Bal, we must skirmish with evil wherever it rears its head.” 

“And there are others who would join me in this?” 

“We do not face these troubled times alone. Many shall rise up to fight this tide of darkness. Wherever you go, you will encounter others who share your courage and valor. Help them if you can, and enlist their aid if you have need of it.” And with that said, the Prophet’s projection fades away. Leaving Alva alone in the tower. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Here's Chapter Two of The Vestige!

“You there! Wet one!” Is the first thing Alva hears from the moment she steps outside the tower. With a confused expression she looks around for the source, and when she eventually looks to her left, she sees a lone Khajiit in High Elf armor. He beckons her to come closer. “Welcome to Khenarthi’s Roost, friend.” He says. “The hurricane must have been very disorienting. So many injured, confused...” Then he lowers his voice and leans a bit closer. “Keep your voice down. Try not to draw attention.” 

“I— What are you talking about?” 

“Razum-Dar is here on a mission of some... delicacy. You are just what the Baandari ordered.” 

“I am?” 

Razum-Dar nods in response. “Between your hands and Raz’s good looks, we are certain to see this through.” 

“Hmm. What kind of help do you need, exactly?” 

“First, a question. Where did you come from?” He asks. 

Alva’s heart skips a beat. Scenes of Lyris and Coldharbour flash in front of her. A shadow falls over her face, her eyes grow dark. “Coldharbour.” She replies. “Molag Bal’s realm. He plans to invade Tamriel.” 

“A Deadric Prince, you say?” Razum-Dar says hesitantly. “Raz has a nose for lies, but you seem clean as an ocean breeze. Hmm. If anyone else asks you... where will you say you came from?” 

The High Elf looks around. They are surrounded by the rubble of ancient buildings, there are tents set up for Elves and Khajiit alike who seem to be recovering from injuries and other Elves and Khajiit in Dominion armor who are helping these poor souls. From as far as she can see along the shore, there are shipwrecks after shipwrecks. Then, considering the look on Razum-Dar’s face, she replies. “I’m a Dominion soldier who survived the shipwreck.” 

“Yes, lie with confidence.” He smiles. “A straight face, and a gleam in your eye. Well done! It is very good right now to fit in. Your sudden arrival? It does not fit in, you understand?” 

Alva opens her mouth to say something in return, but she stops short. She narrows her eyes at him, and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Who did you say you are?” 

“Just a friendly Khajiit, privileged to see someone drop from nowhere and land in sea.” 

“I— wait. You saw that?” 

“This one did! A shame you cannot do it at will. You could make piles of coin, sell tickets!” 

Alva looks back at the sea, suddenly she feels the dampness of her clothes and the cold on her skin. Absentmindedly, she hugs herself. “How long ago did that happen?” 

“You don’t know?” Alva merely shakes her head, earning a peculiar look from the Khajiit. “It was only a few hours ago—” 

“Only a few hours?” Alva asks, whipping her head towards him again, now with a hint of hope in her eyes. 

“Yes.” 

The corner of her mouth goes up slightly. It really puts her mind at ease now she knows that Lyris isn’t on her own for days on end already. It is a big contrast to what the Prophet said, but then again, he did also say that ‘The voyage between worlds disrupted all sense of time and space.’ “Why are you helping me?” Alva asks suddenly. 

“Because you are no soldier, which is useful. You can speak with the locals; assure them we are not invaders or marauders. Now, come. Let us try to fit in.” 

“Very well.” 

The next few days have been the most exciting days in her entire life! After Razum-Dar introduced her to a couple of people, he wanted her to start investigating. So, that’s exactly what she did. Along the way she practiced her magic on alits and skeevers and thunderbugs. Nasty creatures, these thunderbugs, they _sting_ . And be sure not to come near them while they’re near their nest, they _will_ chase you to the other side of the island! Alva knows. She could’ve been at the Temple of the Mourning Springs so much sooner but she was too busy fighting off thunderbugs. At least this way she managed to create blasts of radiant heat at will, it’s an easy move—well, it’s easy now she got the hang of it— where she conjures a ball of fire she shoots at her target. 

It might only be a small feat for an accomplished mage, but to Alva it’s a big step. So, with her heart filled with a newfound determination, she entered the Temple of The Mourning Springs together with Gathwen, a Wood Elf, to save her master. After fighting off different kind of skeletals and avoiding spike traps in the great hall of the tomb, Alva already had a difficult decision to make. Another sacrifice has to be made to stop Uldor from overrunning Khenarthi’s Roost with an army of undead. After a heated discussion, it was Rurelion who sealed himself in the tomb and Uldor was sealed away once more. 

After the job was done, Alva decided to stay around a bit longer to support Gathwen. The loss of her master, of her _friend_ , is hard on her and it is not something one needs to endure alone. The Bosmer cried silently against Alva’s shoulder while she held her comfortably in her arms, rubbing soothing circles on her back. 

The Shattered Shoals was the Altmer’s next stop. Her eyes widened at the sight of it, the large beach was littered with shipwrecks. Many Aldmeri ships sank during the hurricane and the remaining survivors have come ashore here, and according to her coverup story Alva is one of them. She certainly looks the part, though. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail which is held in place with a bit of rope, her side swept bangs rest on her sharp eyebrows. Alva found a tattered, old High Elf linen robe she could switch for her even more tattered prison outfit she was wearing in Coldharbour. Thank Auri-El she could get out of these rags. Well, although she changed these rags for another rag, she is glad to get rid of the stench of Coldharbour. The only thing she has left of that place is her great sword. 

A few steps along the shore, Alva heard a distance shout. “Can any of you hear me?” It didn’t take long before she found the source of it, a Bosmer Sergeant named Firion. Soon thereafter, Alva found herself searching for Firion’s wounded crew. Firion told her to find Torchbug Treacle to heal them, but as a Templar Alva contains healing powers. So, putting the little knowledge she has to the test, she decided to heal the other sailors herself. 

Day soon changed to night when Alva went from healing sailors, to restoring a ship, to fighting Sea Vipers. This time Alva used her sword to fight the other Elves since the healing process earlier that day drained her magicka tremendously. But that definitely didn’t stop her from swinging her sword around. If Lyris only could see her now, she would have been proud! The thought of Lyris is what keeps Alva so determined lately, but thinking about her for too long also makes her sad. And angry. But somehow, in a way, the sadness and the anger are a good thing. It’s what keeps her going. It’s what drives her to keep fighting and it fuels her attacks. This also made it easier to fight Zyklos, the Sea Viper’s leader, and with this anger she stopped the ritual and the raging storm with it. 

That night Alva stumbled back into camp where she first met Razum-Dar. It was late and she was exhausted and she was hurt from that day’s battle, but winning another fight left her satisfied. And in the end, that’s all that mattered. Alva hands over a bunch of fish she collected from the traps along the shore, to Ji’mada, an older Khajiiti shipwreck survivor who has taken it upon her to cook for the lot of them. “Thank you, Alva, dear.” She smiles, patting the Altmer’s cheek. 

“You’re welcome.” Alva replies, snatching a piece of bread from a platter and joins some other survivors at the camp fire. It has taken some time for her to adjust to the area and its people, but slowly she opened up to them. They don’t know she escaped Coldharbour, though, or what has happened to her, but she did tell them small things from her life in Summerset. And in return Alva would listen to stories of the others. Whenever she got time to spare, she would help Ji’mada with cooking. Other times she would collect herbs and fruits and fish, she would help the more experienced healers with small tasks or she would spend her time practicing her magic. 

The next few days Alva occupied herself with helping other Elves and Khajiit in need. And by doing so, she made some new friends along the way. Juranda-ra really appreciated it when Alva helped her with the rat problem, Spinner Benieth praised her for helping the spirit heal the Great Tree. Officer Lorin seemed a bit skeptical of her at first, but after Alva helped her solve the Skooma problem at the Speckled Shell Plantation, things changed and everything turned out all right. Just helping other citizens is a nice change of pace. It’s... easy. Easier and much safer than fighting Sea Vipers and the undead. Although Alva’s skills improve faster while fighting, helping others with a simple task is just as rewarding. And the money she earned with it, is a nice bonus as well. 

It’s almost two weeks now since Alva escaped from Coldharbour. The Prophet said they would meet again, but how? When? This she did not know. And it was maddening. To keep herself occupied, Alva travels to Mistral where she joins Razum-Dar to fill him in. “This one has heard reports.” The Khajiit says to her. “You’ve kept busy. Good! You fit in now more than ever. How did things go?” 

“I put an end to the trouble in the Shattered Shoals and the Temple of the Mourning Springs, as you’ve asked.” Alva replies, and the next few minutes she spends giving him all the details about the matters. 

In return, Razum-Dar informs her of the goings on in Mistral. Apparently, there’s an interesting political situation going on between the local Maormer and the new Aldmeri Dominion presence. There is a treaty which allows them to coexist on the island, but it’s said that it’s flawed and cannot hold. 

That's why Alva is on her way towards the Silvenar to talk about it. Entering the Embassy, Alva immediately finds him since he’s the only Bosmer in there. She shows him the token Raz has given her. “Most unexpected! It seems we have a mutual friend. May I ask, what brings you to Mistral?” the Silvenar asks. 

“Our mutual friend thought you could use my help.” Alva smiles friendly. 

After that, things spiraled out of control pretty quickly. Alva went to investigate the matter of the treaty, since neither Harrani nor Ulondil were eager to present their copy. Eventually the Altmer managed to ‘steal back’ Harrani’s copy Ulondil stole from her in the first place. 

Anyway, Alva had a short interaction with the Green Lady before she entered hers and the Silvenar’s home for further instruction. Alva’s hand covers her mouth as she gasps. A red cloud of poison hovers over the lifeless body of the Silvenar on the ground. Alva kneels down next to him; her hands glow a bright gold and she gently press them on the Silvenar’s chest in an attempt to heal him. Now, his chest glows the same gold. She closes her eyes in concentration, the red cloud disappears when the glow spreads throughout the whole room. 

The door flies open, distracting Alva. She pulls her hand away, and the golden glow disappears instantly. The Green Lady frowns deeply at the scene in front of her, soon as she realizes the Silvenar is dead, her expression turns enraged. “No.” She growls. “No!” The Bosmer examines his body before her head snaps towards Alva. “You found him like this?” She sneers. “What did you see?” Alva’s taken aback by the hostility in her voice. “Answer me!” The Green Lady demands. 

“He—he was dead when I arrived.” Alva manages to reply. 

“Don’t lie to me! I saw the glow; I saw you were doing something to him.” 

The High Elf holds up her hands. “I was only trying heal him.” 

The Green Lady studies Alva intently, and after a short moment she turns her attention back to the Silvenar. “Then you know nothing! A thousand curses on this wretched island. They've taken my beloved!” Although her voice is filled with rage, Alva still hears a hint of sadness in her voice, and somehow, she can’t help but feel saddened herself. 

Alva can’t say she truly knows the Silvenar. She has only talked with him for a few short moments, but still, his death affects her in a way. In all her time on Khenarthi’s Roost Alva has seen so much death and destruction already. First Rurelion, then Firion’s lieutenant and now the Silvenar. It truly amazes her how things seem so differently outside of Summerset. Alva always saw her home as a paradise, everything was so beautiful and perfect and serene. Not once was there a moment where she felt anything other than pure bliss. Except when her parents were scolding her for being a failure, of course. But apart from that? Only pure bliss. And now there is only death and destruction and betrayal. As a child she has heard plenty of stories about the lands outside of Summerset, but she never thought it would be any like this. 

“Who would want him dead?” Alva wonders. 

“None who'll survive the day.” The Green Lady replies. “I am the unerring bolt. Once loosed, I cannot stop 'til I pierce my quarry's eye. Harrani knows her own city. If she won't tell you who did this, I'll shorten her tail until she does. Now go. Go!” 

Alva gets back on her feet and hurries out of the house and runs straight back towards the Embassy where she informs Harrani. The Khajiit is surprised by the information and definitely eager to help. It takes some more investigating and another talk with Razum-Dar to find out it was Ulondil who hired an assassin to kill the Silvenar. 

It was her and the Green Lady who found the assassin in an abandoned house just a few ways away, and after Alva heard what she needed to hear and gathered all the proof she can muster. She turns to leave again, but the Green Lady doesn’t look like she’s going to follow. The Elves share a look, and that’s all it takes for Alva to know what is about to happen next. Quickly she closes the door behind her, and as she walks down the steps, she could swear she heard tormented screams. 

Sometime later, the High Elf approaches Harrani, Ulondil and Vicereeve Pelidil at the bridge which leads to the Moamor Embassy. Uldondil looks up at her. “Ah, the errant deputy. I was just informing Headwoman Harrani of her apothecary's connections to the High Elves of Summerset Isle. Once the torture begins, we'll learn why the Dominion killed their own diplomat.” He says. 

Alva gives him a glare; she straightens her back and speaks with cold determination. “The Dominion has nothing to do with this. I know you are behind all of this.” 

“Excuse me?” Ulondil says offended. “Who do you think you—” 

“—Your assassin said you ordered the Silvenar’s death.” 

“My what? You mean the apothecary? I assure you; he was never in my employ—” 

“— Your assassin bought Daedric blood from the apothecary and used it to kill the Silvenar.” 

Ulondil fixes his mouth in a thin line, his jaw clenched. He narrows his eyes at Alva, but she just glares back unflinchingly. “Oh, well done.” He says eventually. The Green Lummox and her idiot husband lie dead. There's nothing you can do to stop us.” 

A small smile spread across Alva’s lips, earning a nervous glance from Ulondil. “That’s where you’re wrong, ambassador.” She says. “The Green Lady isn’t dead.” 

“You’re lying!” He accuses in a fit of panic. “She must be dead, or else she would have come for me! She’s coming for me, isn’t she?” Alva merely lifts an eyebrow in response, giving the Sea Elf the answer he most fears. “I... I'm a duly appointed ambassador of the Maormer people. The grounds of the embassy are sacrosanct, according to our treaty!” 

Alva moves to follow him, but Harrani stops her by grabbing her hand. “This is madness.” The Khajiit says to her. “There has been enough death in this city.” 

“It's clear the Maormer betrayed Khenarthi's Roost.” Alva replies. 

“This does not excuse mindless slaughter!” Harrani counters. “We are better than our enemies. You must apprehend him. Don’t let the Green Lady cut him down like an animal! We must learn what the Maomor plan for Khenarthi’s Roost.” 

Alva considers this and nods. “Alright. I’ll go after him.” 

Harrani sighs relieved and releases her grip on the Elf’s arm. “I trust you’ll do what’s best for my people. Now I must... apologize to Vicereeve Pelidil. Whatever the Dominion needs, we will provide.” When Alva turns to head towards the Maomor Embassy, she meets Pelidil’s eyes. They only look at each other, neither of them saying a word. 

The Vestige enters the Embassy and immediately runs up the stairs, her heart skips a beat when she sees how the Green Lady corners Ulondil. Carefully, Alva comes to stand between them. She holds up her hands as if she’s keeping a menacing beast at bay. “Green Lady.” She says softly. She opens her mouth to say more, but the Bosmer interrupts her. 

“Move. Unless you don’t mind the spatter.” She says through gritted teeth. 

“What are you going to do to him?” 

“I’ll keep him alive for a time. He won’t starve. His limbs have so much flesh to sustain him. Go tell Harrani the Maomor is dead. Leave me to my work.” 

“No.” Alva replies. She’s nervous, but determined. She _will_ stop this. “This isn’t justice, it’s revenge...” 

“Exactly.” The Green Lady says. “And I’ll have the blood that’s due! What does this creature’s life matter to you, anyway?” 

Alva lowers her hands and looks over her shoulder at Ulondil who’s cowering away, his back pressed against the wall. The Sea Elf’s life matters very little to her, truth be told. But killing someone out of revenge is never an option, no matter what they did to you. “Is this what the Silvenar would have wanted?” 

A shadow falls over the Green Lady’s face, her eyes suddenly ablaze. “You dare speak for my Silvenar? I'll beat you with your own flayed skin! I'll smash your teeth to powder and choke you with the dust! You're .... You're right. Curse your bones, you're right. Take him away, before I lose myself.” 

The Vestige did not expect the sudden change of events, but thank Auri-El all the same. Alva grabs Ulondil by his collar and drags him out of the Embassy again and presents him to Harrani. Dominion guards shackle him as the Khajiit turns her attention towards Alva. “Thank you so much for your quick action.” 

Alva bows her head. “You’re welcome.” 

The women exchange a smile, glad that this matter is dealt with. As if on cue, Zaeri, another Khajiit, runs up to her, telling her Sea Vipers have attacked Cat’s Eye Quay. The defensive forces are thin, so they need all the help they can get, otherwise [ Mistral ](https://en.uesp.net/wiki/Online:Mistral) will fall. 

Not hesitating one moment, Alva rushes straight towards the Quay and finds commander Karinith who directs her to urge civilians away from the fighting. The Altmer gets to it immediately, and after helping a Khajiit and another High Elf, Alva joins with Firion and Gathwen at the gate. 

At the sound of someone approaching, Firion turns around. “What are you doing here?” She asks, and now Gathwen turns to look at her as well. 

“Alva!” The other Wood Elf breathes relieved. 

Alva reaches out to grab her hand, she gives it a little squeeze before addressing Firion. “I’m here to help.” 

“Are you in the mood to cave in some Sea Viper skulls?” Firion replies. 

Alva’s eyes widen at the sound of that, she giggles nervously. “I— I wouldn’t say it like that, but I’m definitely down for some thorough ass whooping.” 

Firion shrugs. “Sounds good enough to me.” 

“So, one of the survivors said you’re planning a counterattack.” 

“You feel that cold air rushing off the sea? Just like it was before the hurricane. We can’t wait to cut off the snake’s head. We _are_ the Dominion counterattack.” 

“What can I do?” 

“I sent my squad to scout Cat’s Eye Quay. If they haven’t learned what the Sea Vipers plan, we can poke around until we figure out what needs chopping. And don’t worry, your wizard friend can seal the gate behind us.” 

“Shouldn’t you hold the gate?” 

“I’ll hold the gate, if you think you’ll need a wizard. Or you could bring a Dominion marine. Up to you.” 

Alva turns to Gathwen, who has been following the conversation attentively. “How are you feeling, Gathwen? Do you think you will be able to assist me out there?” 

“You aided me at the Temple of the Mourning Springs. I’d be a fool not to return the favor—” 

“You don’t owe me anything.” Alva says, creasing her brows to emphasize on that matter. 

“I know that.” Gathwen replies with a soft smile. “You’ve already proven your courage. If I’m to die in this battle, I’d rather be at your side than alone on this beach.” The Bosmer takes a moment to look at the gate, she breathes in deeply and lets it out as a sigh. “But we won’t let it come to that. If you hold the Sea Vipers attention, I’ll do what I can to keep you on your feet.” 

“All right, come with me.” Alva says, she nods her head at Firion, who returns the gesture, and enters the Quay with Gathwen close at her side. 

The Elves dive head on into the fight on the beach. They defeat Sea Vipers left and right, saving civilians who have been captured as they go. They move quickly through the area; they meet with Eldhelas who hands them a page of Ealcil’s research note. Some ways further they find Nistel in the tavern, Alva fears the worst when she notices she’s not moving. “Oh, Nistel.” She breathes softly as she kneels down next to her. “Alva, look.” Gathwen says, Alva follows her gaze and sees another research note in her hand. The High Elf takes it from her, says a little prayer for Nistel and leaves again. 

The women continue down the coast line. Alva is in deep concentration as she’s fighting Sea Vipers, totally forgetting about Gathwen until she hears her cry out in panic. “Alva!” And when the Altmer turns to look what is going on, she sees she’s surrounded by Vipers. Without any hesitation, Alva charges towards them. The first one she strikes down with a slash of her sword; the other two she attacks with beams of pure light. Somewhere due to the chaos of the moment, she loses her sword, but that doesn’t stop her from protecting Gathwen. Using her bare fists, she knocks the last one of them down cold. Alva looks down at the bodies surrounding them, and collecting her breath she looks up at the Bosmer. “Are you hurt?” She asks. 

Gathwen runs a trembling hand through her hair. “Just a little—watch out!” 

Alva whirls around at the sudden shout of warning, and sees the tip of a sword coming her way. On instinct, she backs away, but unfortunately not fast enough. The sword collides with her waist, leaving a bleeding gash. She glances down at it before she engulfs her fist in flames and punches the Viper squarely in the face, and after a few more well-placed punches, she defeats the Sea Viper. 

When Gathwen joins Alva’s side, the Altmer quickly pulls on her robe to hide the gash on her waist. She collects her sword from the ground, before she turns her attention back to the fight around them. “Let’s go.” 

Eventually they find a lone Khajiit inside the mine entrance. Since this entrance is collapsed, he directs them to another entrance to the line. Just when they’re about to leave, he mentions a wizard gave him a piece of paper. He holds it out to them; it takes only one look to know it’s another research note of Ealcil. Alva and Gathwen exchange a look before they head towards the Wind Tunnels where they find Ealcil. After getting instructions on how to proceed from there, Alva and Gathwen explore the mines and interrupt each of the totems they find, killing more Sea Vipers along the way. When they reach the exit of the mine again, they run into Ealcil’s projection. The only thing left to do now is for them to deactivate the three horns surrounding the Atranoch outside. This way, they will stop the process completely. 

Ealcil’s projection fades away, leaving the Elves in the dark. Alva lets out a shaky breath, and uses her arm to catch herself against the wall. On instinct, Gathwen reaches out to steady her. “Alva, what’s wrong?” She asks with her brows creased in worry. The Altmer wobbles slightly, her face twitches in pain and her hand flies to her waist, clutching it tightly. Alva grunts as Gathwen lowers her to the ground. Then she reaches out to pull away Alva’s hand from her waist to find it shiny and wet with blood. “You’re hurt.” She whispers, and when she looks up at her, she finds Alva already looking at her. 

“How bad is it?” The High Elf asks. 

Gathwen tears open the gap in her robe even more to look at the cut on her waist. She breathes in sharply at the sight of it, but she recovers quickly and gives Alva an encouraging smile. “It’s nothing a little healing can’t fix.” She lies. 

“We... we don’t have time for that.” Alva protests. 

“Then we’ll have to make time for that.” Gathwen replies. 

“We need to stop the ritual.” Alva breathes in pain. 

“We won’t be stopping anything if you’re dead.” Gathwen shakes her head, and reaches out to start healing but Alva stops her by grabbing her wrist. 

“Gathwen.” She says. Her voice is soft but clear, and the look in her eyes is one of determination. 

The Bosmer sighs, bending her head in defeat. “Fine. But you will let me take a look at you once this is over.” 

Alva grunts in response, which is a good enough answer to her. After that, they exit the mine. The High Elf’s stomach drops at the sight in front of her. It’s raining heavily and there is a chill wind that wafts through the clearing. “I’ve read about this in books but I never imagined it to look like this.” Gathwen says, snapping Alva out of her thoughts. 

Her heart is racing and the stinging pain in her waist makes it hard to concentrate on the matter at hand. She blinks away the black spots swimming in her field of vision and proceeds towards the first horn. The fight with the Serpent and Sea Viper doesn’t go as smoothly as her previous fights, but after a few more swings of her sword and an occasional ball of divine fire puts an end to it. They continue like this until the last of the horn is deactivated. 

There is a sudden shift in the wind, and the Atranoch’s voice thunders in their ears. Alva hears a distant sound, not quite paying attention to it as her eyes are glued on the Atranoch. Every fiber in her being says to get the hell out of there, but she seems frozen to the spot. A hand grabs her shoulder, Razum-Dar turns her so she looks at him. He stands right in front of her, and although he’s shouting at her, his voice sounds far away. “Alva, we need to get out of here!” When Alva doesn’t reply to that, Gathwen grabs her hand and pulls her along. The only thing left to do to get to safety is jump in the sea. Raz is the first to jump, Gathwen goes second and Alva follows close behind. Taking a deep breath, Alva jumps off the cliff. Her vision goes black before she hits the water. 

...

“There she is!” Razum-Dar exclaims when Alva opens her eyes again. Her expression twitches as she struggles to sit up. Gathwen’s soft hands hold her arm and support her back, she smiles relieved at her. 

“You scared us, Alva.” The Bosmer says. 

“I’m sorry.” Is all she manages to reply. 

“Raz has to say, you did a good job out there.” 

“From what I’ve heard, no Sea Viper was left to your mercy.” Sergeant Firion says. “Oh, I wish I could have seen that!” 

While Razum-Dar and Sergeant Firion continue about the battle, Alva slowly gets back to her feet. She looks around. The sky is crystal clear, there is not one cloud in sight. The sun shines down on Khenarthi’s Roost, leaving her in a comfortable warmth. Things are so calm right now, as if nothing has ever happened. 

“We won, thanks to you.” Alva hears suddenly. When she turns, Gathwen has joined her side at the water. “The Elves and Khajiit call you a hero already.” 

Alva quickly looks away, trying to hide the blush that’s forming on her cheeks. “I’m not— I’m not a hero.” 

“You are, though.” Gathwen replies. “I’ve heard the others talking about you. I heard what you did at the Shattered Shoals, how you helped other civilians without expecting anything in return. While you were unconscious, Razum-Dar and Harrani were telling how you solved the treaty problem and put Ulondil into custody. Not to forget what you did at the Temple of the Mourning Springs. And then, just now with the Tempest? We will never forget what you did for Khenarthi’s Roost. The Dominion should be honored to have you.” 

Alva’s face has grown completely scarlet now. “Hmm.” Is the only thing she replies. 

Razum-Dar calls for the Elves and waves them over. “My friend!” Raz says. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’ve felt better, but at least I’m breathing.” She replies. 

“Escaping death is a constant thrill, yes? Not so thrilling for the Maomer, of course.” 

“How did you know where to find me?” 

“The Maomer are fled or dead, thanks to your efforts. Khenarthi’s Roost is safe and voluntarily a part of the Aldmeri Dominion. So, if you must know? Razum-Dar keeps an eye on promising people.” 

“I...” Alva’s taken aback by that; her cheeks turn red again. In the corner of her eye she sees Gathwen looking at her with a smug grin. ‘I told you so’ radiates from her face. Ignoring her, Alva turns her attention back to Razum-Dar. “So, What now?” 

“The Maomer are like drunken uncle. Chase them off and they always come back. Next time Khenarthi will be waiting for them. Problem is, there are places that will not be so prepared.” 

“What places?” 

“If the vipers are in numbers strong enough to assault Khenarthi, all of the southern seas are in danger. The Queen is in Auridon right now, beginning a royal visit.” Alva tenses up at the mention of the Queen, but she recovers quickly. “Raz would ask you to head to Vulkhel Guard and report to Watch Captain Astanya .” 

“I’ll do that.” 

“Astanya can pass word to Her Majesty. Perhaps you can catch a ride on the Prowler. Raz hear Jimila plans to set sail, he suspects she may owe you a favor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking your time and hopefully I will see you next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter Three of The Vestige!
> 
> But! Before you proceed, there is something I want to explain to you. This chapter is about the Prophet explaining Alva how the Soulburst happened. If you are someone who has played The Elder Scrolls Online before, and knows of the main story quest 'The Harborage' you will actually already know what will be in this chapter since this one really follows the quest line very closely.
> 
> I decided to upload this chapter anyway for the people who don't know about the quest. Even if you do know, it might be interesting to read it anyway because during this chapter you will see how Alva interacts with the Prophet and how she will react to the story about The Five Companions and how her destiny intertwines with theirs.

The Prowler harbors at the docks of Vulkhel Guard. The sun's low on the horizon, taking its time to rise since it's still early in the morning. Alva yawns and rubs drowsily in her eyes. She slept heavenly! After the ordeal in Khenarthi's Roost she was so exhausted, it didn't take long for her to fall asleep in a deep slumber. The High Elf runs up the few steps and heads outside. She smiles, breathing in the fresh ocean breeze—

"There you are." Alva almost jumps out of her skin at the sudden sound of the Prophet's voice. When she turns to look at him, she sees his projection. "Do not panic, only you can see me." He continues. "Come, we need to speak."

"Prophet?" Alva whispers, looking hastily over her shoulder to make sure no one hears her. If it's true that no one but she can see him, it would look rather ridiculous for the crew to see Alva talking to 'air'.

"Listen well." The old man says. "I have located a safe harbor from which we might plan our course of action. You must meet me there."

"Where is this safe harbor?"

"I awoke upon a sandy shore— a stretch of beach outside a bustling city of Elves. Vulkhel Guard. The Harborage is in a seaside cave, outside the city. It is there that you will find me."

"I'll come at once." And with that said Alva bolts out of there. Right when she's about to run down the walkway of the ship, she passes Captain Jimila and waves at her as she continues running. "Thanks for the ride, Captain! I'll see you around!"

"You're welcome! The Prowler will always be ready for you, should you have need of it!" Jimila calls after her.

Alva runs East down the coastline, keeping the Prophet's description in mind, she continues her search for the Harborage. It has been such a long day, and when she departed Khenarthi's Roost she felt exhausted. But now she knows she's about to meet with the Prophet again, adrenaline urges through her veins. This newfound energy leaves her excited and eager to find him. Some ways away from the bustling streets of Vulkhel Guard, Alva finds a wooden door as entrance to a cave near the sea. With a hard push, she manages to open the door and steps inside.

Alva's jaw drops. The Harborage is not what she expected. Well, what can one expect when they hear about a 'seaside cave'? Anyway, Alva proceeds forward. She follows the one path that leads deeper into the cave until she reaches a wide clearing. The area is covered with plants, there's even a full-grown tree which catches beams of sunlight that creeps through the cracks of the ceiling. And there, in the middle of all of it, is the Prophet. He sits down on a chair near a burning campfire. When she comes closer, she notices two tables with books and Alchemy equipment on it.

"I hear familiar footfalls. Come closer, Vestige." The Prophet says suddenly, snapping Alva out of awe.

"Prophet!" Alva says, joining him at the fire.

"Welcome to the Harborage, Vestige. This is as comfortable a home as an old dried-up husk like myself could hope for."

"How did you find it?" The High Elf asks, looking around in wonder.

"Despite my blindness— nay, because of it— my other senses seem to have heightened. This place had the right smell about it."

Alva smiles at that, she takes another quick look around the place before the memory of Coldharbour races through her mind again. "When you first appeared to me in Coldharbour, you spoke of my destiny." She starts suddenly.

"Indeed. But let us not get ahead of ourselves. Without an understanding of where we are bound, every road will get us nowhere. Before we truly understand our destination, we must speak of the past."

"The past?" Alva repeats. "Am I going to get a history lesson?"

"Of a sort. I invite you to enter my mind and walk with me through visions of the past, that you might understand the events that brought us to this time, this moment."

"I— I can do that?"

The Prophet simply nods. "Enter my mind, Vestige, and walk with me through the shadows of past events." And before Alva gets the chance to protest, she feels a sudden pull in her mind and in a blink, she finds herself back in Coldharbour. Her first instinct is to reach for her sword, but the Prophet's voice keeps her from doing that. "Come, follow me. It's time you learn of the events that precipitated our current crisis."

"My part of the story began when I awoke on the steps of the Abbey of the Moth Priest, with no memory of my prior life. The Moth Priest took pity upon me and brought me into their fold. I was weak and near death. It was there I first set eyes upon the Elder Scrolls and devoted my life to their study. The scrolls allowed me to glimpse the very fabric of reality, but each profound insight filled my vision and eventually left me permanently blinded to the light of the world."

Alva follows the Prophet wordlessly, carefully listening to his story. A shiver runs down her spine when her eyes fall upon the Scrolls the Prophet was talking about, leaving her wondering what kind of information it holds. Maybe she will ask him about it later, maybe not— Alva almost bumps into the Prophet because she didn't realize he had stopped walking and she didn't pay attention to where she was going. When she looks up, she realizes the Prophet's gaze rests upon the scene in front of them; another clearing with a large table in the middle of it with chairs around and decorated with candles and food and drinks.

"The prophecies of the Elder Scrolls are fluid, living things. They are not fixed." The Prophet continues. "At many points throughout history, the actions of heroic mortals have rewritten them."

"What has that to do with me?"

"I only know that you are important, Vestige." He replies. Alva doesn't know how to react on that, all her life she was told she was a failure and was good for nothing. She brought shame upon her family and she was never be good enough for anything... "The scrolls revealed to me that your destiny is intertwined with that of the Five Companions."

"How is that possible? Who are the Five Companions?"

"The Five Companions were a band of adventurers who sought out an ancient artifact called the Amulet of Kings. They hoped to use this artifact to persuade Akatosh, the Dragon God, to accept their leader as one of the Dragon Born."

"Who was their leader?"

"Varen Aquilarios— the son of a Colvin duke, who led a rebellion against the Emperor Leovic and took the crown himself. Alas, Varen was not truly Dragonborn, as those who sit upon the Ruby Throne must be, in accordance with tradition." The Prophet pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath. "You have already heard enough babbling from this old, blind fool. It is time you meet the Five Companions yourself, and witness their fate."

"The first companion, Lyris Titanborn, daughter of giants, was the mightiest warrior in the service of the Emperor."

A projection of Lyris appears in front of them, and Alva feels tears gathering in her eyes instantly. "Lyris!" She gasps and rushes forward, she reaches out but her hand moves merely through the projection, leaving her disappointed. The giant stands proudly, with both hands on her hips and her chin held high. When they met in Coldharbour, Lyris was wearing the same prison rags as Alva, but the armor she is wearing right now? By Mara... that prison outfit wasn't doing her justice.

"Next, Abnur Tharn, a powerful sorcerer and Grand Chancellor of the Imperial Elder Council." Another projection appears, this time of an older Imperial, who stands there equally proud. The next few minutes, the Prophet introduces Sai Sahan, a Redguard and leader of the Imperial Dragon Guard. The Imperial Emperor, Varen Aquilarios, who attempted to light the Dragonfire and failed. And then at last, Mannimarco the traitor. The King of Worms. "A powerful necromancer, and your executioner."

A tremble runs down Alva's spine as she watches Mannimarco. She feels herself stepping forward and now standing right in front of him, she takes a better look at him. She remembers him. She remembers _it_ ; the moment she was sacrificed. The way he looked at her, almost _bored_ , before he pierced her chest to take away her soul from her...

"These are the Five Companions, who set out from the Imperial City on an epic quest to recover the lost Amulet of Kings."

"How could the Amulet of Kings turn Varen into one of the Dragonborn?"

"Mannimarco convinced Varen that the amulet could be used to perform a ritual that would rekindle the Dragonfires. He claimed this would please Akatosh and entice him to adopt Varen as one of the Dragonborn."

"Why did Varen want to become a Dragonborn in the first place?"

"By tradition, only the Dragonborn can lay claim to the Ruby Throne and rule as the one, true Emperor by divine right. Varen conquered Cyrodiil and took the throne, but unless he became Dragonborn, he feared he'd always be thought of as a pretender." Alva takes a moment to let all this information sink in.

The Elf looks around her. She stands in the middle of a display of a memory, the Companions are busy or talking with each other, but there is no sound. It's rather odd, but at the same time fascinating. Alva looks from Companion to Companion until her eyes fall upon Mannimarco again. Since Alva's considered short for a High Elf, Mannimarco's tall figure looms over her.

"What can you tell me about Mannimarco, Prophet?"

"Mannimarco is a traitor. The great enemy. The most powerful necromancer this world has ever known. His Worm Cult infiltrates and corrupts every corner of Tamriel. It was he who convinced Varen to perform the ritual you are to witness."

Alva nods and moves towards Abnur Tharn, the older Imperial. Standing in front of him, she notices they're about the same height. She remembers the aversion in her parents' voices when they scolded her about her height. But that doesn't matter now. None of it matters now. "Tell me about Abnur Tharn." She asks in an attempt to suppress the memory.

"The Tharns are one of the most influential families in Cyrodiil. Abnur, their patriarch, is the leader of the Elder Council, a powerful battlemage and a shrewd politician. With his counsel, Varen was able to seize the Imperial throne, years before." Alva keeps her eyes trained on the man in front of him. With his hands clasped behind is back he just radiates authority. There is something about the hard look in his eyes which leaves her intrigued.

"You said I was going to witness the ritual? What happened when they performed the ritual?"

"Disaster. War and pestilence. A world brought to its knees. Now watch, and see how one man's arrogance brought about the greatest threat our world has ever known." After that, the Prophet turns and walks away.

Alva casts one last glance at the Companions and follows the Prophet, only to see them walking out of the gate the Prophet is heading to. "There it is." Alva hears suddenly. Her eyes move this way and that, trying to figure out who's talking until she figures out it's Varen Aquilarios himself. "The Dragonfire brazier. Mannimarco, you're certain this will work?"

"It will work, my liege." Mannimarco replies. Alva hears his voice for the first time, and it leaves her stone cold. "The Amulet of Kings will rekindle the Dragonfires, and ensure your rightful place as Emperor. You have my word."

"It better work, Mannimarco." Lyris says, and now Alva's head snaps into her direction. "Or you'll find your neck at the business end of my axe."

"My Lord, I wonder if you'd muzzle your half- giant pet?" Abnur Tharn says. "She really is annoying."

"Enough, both of you!" Sai Sahan says next. "We are here to ensure My Lord's rightful claim to the ruby throne."

Varen approaches the brazier and turns towards the Chancellor. "Abnur, begin the ritual. I have a destiny to fulfill." Abnur Tharn joins the Emperor at the brazier and uses his magic to light the fire. Varen prepares himself. "By the lightning of the Dragonfires, I claim my rightful lineage! By the fires of creation, let me be reborn! By the will of Akatosh, I proclaim myself... Dragonborn!"

Alva's eyes are wide in astonishment as she looks at the scene in front of her. While everyone's attention is upon Varen, Alva notices Mannimarco approaching the brazier as well. And after that, Varen grunts in pain. He's being raised in the air and a black and green cloud glows around him. Mannimarco levitates above the brazier, emanating the same glow as Varen. Seeing this, Lyris Titanborn, Abnur Tharn and Sai Sahan each hold their weapon in hand and watch Mannimarco's every move.

"Varen Aquilarios, you are no heir to Alessia!" The King of Worms exclaims. "You will pay for your sacrilege! The veil between Tamriel and Oblivion tears and splits asunder!" He throws his arms out and an invisible force strikes Lyris and Sai to the ground.

"What's happening?" Abnur asks. "The sky is opening up! This is bad! This is very bad!" After that, he gets struck down as well, and then, at last Varen too.

"This isn't supposed to happen!" Varen grunts. "What's the meaning of this? Mannimarco, what have you done?"

"Gullible fools! The veil between Oblivion and this world has been torn! My master, Molag Bal, is free to claim Tamriel for his own!"

"Akatosh! Forgive me!" Varen pleads. "Have mercy on our souls!" And with that, the scene dissipates.

Alva lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Slowly she turns towards the Prophet who's gaze rests upon the brazier, his look forlorn. "The ritual tore the veil between Nirn and Oblivion, allowing Mannimarco to begin stealing the souls his master needed to power the Dark Anchors and initiate the Planemeld." The Prophet explains. Absentmindedly, Alva reaches for her chest and clings to the fabric where Mannimarco had stabbed his dagger into her.

"What went wrong?" She asks next.

"Akatosh gave Alessia the Amulet of King as a symbol of his covenant with Nirn. So long as the Amulet remained in the care of Alessia's heirs, and the Dragonfires remained lit, Tamriel would be protected from the Daedra."

"But Aquilarios wasn't an heir." Alva remarks.

"Mannimarco tricked Varen into breaking the covenant, and the veil between Oblivion and Nirn was torn. The Elder Scrolls named this event the Soulburst. It gave Molag Bal the opportunity to disconnect the souls of Nirn and their hosts."

"What happened to the other Companions?"

"Varen was lost. In the chaos of the moment, Sai Sahan took the Amulet of Kings and fled. Lyris was captured by Mannimarco and delivered to Coldharbour, the realm of Molag Bal."

"What about Abnur Tharn and Mannimarco?"

"Tharn remains Chancellor of the Elder Council, and his daughter Clivia rules as Empress Regent. But the true power remains in the hands of Mannimarco and his Worm Cult."

"How did _you_ end up in Coldharbour?"

"When I discovered the truth about the Five Companions, I made subtle inquiries. But apparently, not subtle enough. Mannimarco got word of my interest and abducted me. He took me to Coldharbour, where I remained prisoner until you freed me."

"They saw you as a threat?"

"The truth is always a threat to evil men. Mannimarco feared I would reveal his treachery. And if knowledge of Nirn's vulnerability were to become known, it could threaten his master's schemes. Molag Bal does not favor loose ends. Now, walk with me." The Prophet explains how the Soulburst tore the veil between worlds, and gave Molag Bal the opportunity he desired. His Dark Anchors pierce the torn veil, and seek to draw Nirn into the depths of Coldharbour. These terrible engines of destruction have been appearing throughout Tamriel.

"If the Lord of Brutality and Domination is successful, he will merge our world and his own in a terrible Planemeld. Few will survive the ordeal, and those that do will be enslaved for all eternity. And so, it falls to us, Vestige. We must stop Molag Bal and his Dark Anchors, or our world is doomed. And now, history seems to have caught up with us." And with that said, Alva feels another pull in her mind and suddenly she is back in the Harborage.

"And so, it begins." The Prophet continues casually. "The remainder of the story has yet to be written. It is your story, now."

"You've given me a lot to think about."

"And there is so much to do. But know this— you will not walk this path alone."

"So, what's our next move?"

"We must grow in strength and in numbers. You will need more than the company of an old man to alter the course of history. We must assemble our own group of companions. The first, you have already met."

"Lyris Titanborn?"

"Lyris sacrificed her own freedom to allow us to escape. She remains a prisoner in Coldharbour. I must determine her precise location if we are to mount a rescue. That will take time."

"What should I do in the meantime?"

"Mannimarco's agents weave a web of lies and deceit. They put the races of Tamriel against one and another and divert their attention from the real threat. Seek out those agents wherever they can be found and expose their lies."

"I'll do what I can."

"Forgive me. Bringing you into my mind seems to have taken quite a toll on me. I must rest. I will contact you when the time is right. Until then, walk in the light Vestige."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there you have it! Thank you for taking your time and hopefully I will see you next time!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter Four of The Vestige!
> 
> And yes! I uploaded two chapters at a time, lol.

Alva's strolling down the beach. She still can't wrap her head around the fact she was in the Prophet's mind! How does one do that? That doesn't really matter, does it? What does matter is what she just witnessed. A million thoughts race through her mind, hurting her head in the process. Alva reaches a spot that's just good as any and sits down, she sighs deeply as she looks at the sea.

The faces of the Five Companions flash before her eyes, their voices echoes through her mind. If there is one thing that makes sense out of all of this is why Lyris is such a good fighter; she was a warrior and in service of an Emperor!

_I only know that you are important, Vestige._ Alva still can't believe the Prophet has said that. How can she be important? How can an odd Altmer who has little knowledge of magic and fighting be important _and_ be the one to save Tamriel no less? The Elder Scrolls must be wrong. Can it be wrong? Alva doesn't know, but it must be. She is no hero material. Alva sighs deeply and hangs her head. For Mara's sake, what did she stumble into?

Hours pass by and the sun is setting slowly, leaving a beautiful display of pink and orange which reflects on the water, and it's only when the sun has almost disappeared completely, Alva gets back on her feet. About time, actually because her rumbling stomach indicates the hunger she was ignoring all this time. She brushes the sand from her robes and head towards Vulkhel Guard.

Alva passes the stands of merchants, some sell food, some sell trinkets, some sell cloth— The Altmer stops right in front of a stall which displays heavy armor. Looking down at the current robe she is wearing, she almost feels embarrassed. Alva's eyes wander over the different designs, until she stops in front of a High Elf steel armor. "How much gold for this armor?" She asks the vendor, pointing at the one she wants. After Alva purchased the armor set, she quickly changed into it. The steel is cool against her skin but at least this offers some kind of protection, and the smell is finally gone!

The Altmer then buys some bananas, corn and seasoning. She's famished, so food is in order. The Prophet has a fire she can use to make some delicious sweet rolls. He must be starving too, the poor old man... Alva decides to buy some extra of each ingredient to make an extra batch of sweet rolls for the Prophet as well.

The Vestige enters the Harborage, she's about to announce her arrival when she finds the man asleep. Their voyage to his mind must have really drained him. Quietly she proceeds towards the fire and starts baking, and once she's done all there is left to do is wait. Alva sits in front of the fire with her knees pulled up to her chest, she listens to the crackling sound of the fire and the soft breathing of the Prophet. She turns to look at him, and sees he doesn't lay upon or under any kind of blanket. That surely can't be comfortable.

Alva reaches for her bag and pulls out her blanket she acquired in the camp she stayed in at Khenarthi's Roost. It's not the softest thing, but at least it's better than nothing. Carefully she drapes the blanket over the old man and sits down in front of the fire again.

Time passes, and the Prophet wakes up to the sweet smell of baked goods. He creases his brow in confusion, not only because of the smell that fills the Harborage, but also because he feels a weight on him that wasn't there before. Drowsily he reaches out and feels the fabric of a blanket, leaving him in more confusion—

"Ah, you're awake." He hears Alva's soft voice. "I hope I'm not intruding upon your privacy with being here."

The Prophet sits up with a grunt, the hard floor really isn't doing anything good to his old bones. He feels Alva taking the blanket off of him, and she must have seen him searching for his staff because she grabs his hand and gives it to him. Then, supporting him, she helps him to his feet.

"Thank you, child." He smiles and walks towards his chair. "And you are not intruding upon anything, the Harborage is just as much your home now as it's mine." He replies, and he doesn't need his sight to know Alva's smiling at him.

"Well, then. I took the liberty to bake us sweet rolls, you must be hungry. I know I am."

The Prophet's heart warms at the gesture, but he declines politely. "That's very kind of you, but I can't accept."

"What? Why not?"

"I don't want you to spend your hard-earned money on this blind fool. I still have some fish left; I will eat that." He replies and gestures to his right, where, indeed, lays left-over fish.

Alva pulls up her nose at that. "Yeah, no. That's not gonna happen." She protests. "This blind fool just presented me a home. Besides, it's my own choice to share what I have with you." The Elf takes the Prophet's hand again and gives him a sweet roll. "Be careful now, it's still a bit hot."

The Prophet is still a bit hesitant about it. "Vestige, I—"

"Did you know— I haven't told you this, but did you know I saw a glimpse of the Elder Scrolls as well?" Alva suddenly says.

By her tone of voice, it's hard to say if she's serious about that or not, but knowing it's impossible for someone else to have seen the Scrolls, he decides to humor her. "Have you now?"

"Mhm." Alva replies, biting into her roll. "It told me about your destiny."

"My destiny?" He repeats amused. "And what did it say about my destiny, exactly?"

"It's your destiny to eat my sweet rolls without feeling guilty about it. It's your destiny to accept the help I offer, whether it's just me helping to find your footing or help you fighting Daedra. It was said that there is no harm in accepting help. You have been in Coldharbour for Auri-El knows how long, you've been hurt and tortured and starved. But now you're free and things changed, I will not have you continue living like that anymore. Not when I can help it."

The Prophet moves his gaze in the direction of Alva's voice. He swallows the lump in his throat, he takes a deep breath and smiles wryly at her. "If that's what the Scrolls foretold, then I'll have to live by that." And after that, he takes a bite of the sweet roll.

Only after the Prophet has at least eaten three of the rolls, much to Alva's delight, she ventures a little deeper into the Harborage in search for space she can use as her own little place. In the meantime, the Prophet continues with his search to find a way to free Lyris from Coldharbour. Alva's rather surprised at how much deeper the cave goes. At one point, when she looks back and doesn't see the clearing where the Prophet's at, she figures this place is as good as any.

It's rather dark out there since the cracks in the ceiling don't reach all the way to the back. The Altmer closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and concentrates. When she opens her eyes again, several balls of light swirl around lazily in the air, illuminating the area. At least now she can see where she's going.

Alva spends her time clearing foliage, cutting down roots and getting rid of rocks. It's a slow process, but somehow very satisfying. After a while, she hears the Prophet's voice echoing through the hall.

"Vestige?"

"Coming!" Alva drops everything and runs back, when she reaches the clearing, she sees the exhausted, but proud face of the Prophet. "I have finally located Lyris Titanborn in Coldharbour." He says.

Alva breaths in sharply, her heart skipping a beat. She smiles widely at him, only for her expression to change into one of fear. "Is she safe?"

"She works a terrible forge, under the lash of the great deceiver, Molag Bal. Her soul is in great danger, Vestige. You must get to her."

"Her soul?" She repeats, Mannimarco's face flash before her eyes. Alva frowns determined. "I will not let anything happen to her."

"I can manifest a gate to the dark realm." The Prophet says. "But you must go quickly."

"Open it."

And just like that, a portal opens. Alva moves to step through it, but the Prophet's voice stops her. "Tread carefully in Molag Bal's realm, Alva. You are important. The Scrolls have so named you."

"I will, Prophet." She replies. "And remember what the Scrolls have told _me_ ; you need to eat more, okay. I won't be gone for long; I will bake some more when I get back."

The Prophet shakes his head, chuckling silently to himself and Alva steps through the portal. A bright light blinds her before she steps out, straight into the Foundry of Woe. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust, she reaches for her sword and holds it at the ready for when she might have need of it.

The Altmer looks around at the surrounding; there are Soul Shriven slaves all over the place. Some are actually working and some just stand there with a dull look in their eyes. The cracking sound of a flames lash snaps Alva out of her thoughts, quickly she hides and scans the area for Daedra guards.

In contrary to the Wailing Prison, there aren't as much which makes it easier for her to fight them. The Vestige's first thought is to quietly advance on them for a sneak attack, but then again, the anger she feels rising in her chest wants her to just barge in there. So, throwing all caution to the wind, Alva raises her weapon and attacks the Daedra. A few swings of her sword, dodging another few of the Daedra and Alva manages to strike him down.

In the meantime, Lyris stands at a large table, inspecting the weapons that lay all over it. When she took the Prophet's place in the Wailing Prison, she was moved to the Foundry of Woe to make weapons for Molag Bal. Normally she would give the Daedra a hard time, but something has happened... and the fire that was raging in her heart has gone out, leaving her empty and feeling like there is nothing left to fight for—

The half-giant's head snaps up at the sound of commotion a bit further. She hesitates to go and take a look, but then the sound suddenly stops and is replaced by hurried footsteps until—

"Lyris!" Alva gasps. She drops her weapon and sprints towards her. Lyris gapes at her. Tears threaten to fall down the Altmer's cheek, but her beaming smile is truly a sight for sore eyes. Because Lyris is caught off guard, she doesn't really register Alva jumping in her arms, hugging her tightly. But still, she responds to that and wraps her arms around her in return.

"You're here." Lyris whispers, more to herself than to Alva.

"Of course, I'm here." The Elf replies.

Lyris sighs relieved and tightens the hug as she nuzzles her head in the crook of Alva's neck. Alva doesn't want to be the first one to break up the hug because she knows what her presence means to Lyris, so they stand like that for what feels quite some time. Eventually, Lyris let's go off her. Her eyes are red and her cheeks are damp, showing Alva she has been crying. "You're alive." Lyris says as if she still can't truly believe it.

Alva takes her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "There was no way I was going to leave here— that _we_ were going to leave you here."

"We? So, the Prophet is still alive? Thank the gods! But, you! You can't stay! You have to leave before they find you here!"

"Let's go, then." Alva replies, looking over her shoulder for any sign of Daedra. "I'm not going anywhere without you."

"You don't understand. They've... done something to me. I can't leave!"

Alva's brow crease in worry before a flash of anger crosses her face. "What did they do to you?" She demands.

"It's hard to describe. My memories, my feelings, they've been fragmented. Ripped apart. And all the fragmented pieces have been locked away in different parts of the Foundry."

"Then we'll retrieve them." Alva replies confidently.

"I've tried." Lyris says with a hint of desperation in her voice. "The Daedra took everything. My willpower, my courage, my sense of self. I'm an empty shell. The fragments are reflections of my worst fears and most painful memories. I can't... I don't think I can face them."

Anger rises in Alva's chest. Seeing Lyris like this... this isn't how she remembers her. When they were in the Wailing Prison, Lyris was so brave and confident, nothing was too hard for her. And whenever Alva was lost in her doubts, Lyris was the one to encourage her, to show her she was doing just fine. And now, everything is so different. Now it's Lyris who's in doubt and Alva who's the one filled with confidence.

"You can face them. _We_ will face them. Together." And with that said, they move out of there. Following the tunnel, they run into Daedra guards, but Alva is ready for them. Oh, she's so ready for them. She raises her sword and charges head on into battle. It doesn't take long before they reach the end of the tunnel, and once they go through the door, they enter the Cliffside Graveyard.

Alva runs ahead, with Lyris close by her side. The scene in front of the Elf doesn't make much sense to her, a frown forms on her face. Right when she wants to turn towards Lyris, she hears her gasp. "This can't be." Lyris says. "It looks like my... my childhood home in Skyrim." She runs past Alva, straight towards what appears to be gravestone.

The giant kneels in front of them, her head hung low. Alva stands at her side and looks at the stones in wonder. "My parent's graves." Lyris says. "My mother died in childbirth. My father was distant. Cold. I think he blamed me for my mother's death. I ran off to become a mercenary when I was sixteen... I never saw my father again. He was murdered by an old enemy."

Suddenly, the ghostly figure of a man appears out of nowhere. Lyris's eyes widen at the sight of him, she jumps instantly back to her feet. "Father?" She gasps. "Papa, is that you?"

Alva follows the ghost with her eyes and sees how he runs into the rubble of what was supposed to be a house. Without any hesitation, she walks towards the house as well. But when she reaches the few steps, she gets blocked by a Nord man. "Bleed, you bastard!" The Nord yells at the ghost of Lyris's father. "Die like the monster you are!"

"Hey!" Alva says then, distracting the Nord from the ghost. The Nord grabs his two swords and rushes towards Alva. Holding her sword steady in hand, she parries his blows. Alva responds with a fire blast, and when the attacks hit the Nord, his form changes to one of a Daedra.

"Her mind and soul are ours!" It growls. "Abandon your pathetic rescue."

"I don't..." Alva struggles for a moment as she's blocking a swing from the Daedra's sword. Using all her weight, she pushes him backwards, and finally seeing an opening she slams her sword into his abdomen. "... think so!"

The Elf breathes heavily as she returns towards the house, the ghost watches her in confusion. "Who are you?" He says. "Why does Lyris walk with you?"

"I'm here to help Lyris." Alva replies. "Who are you?"

"In life, I was Gjalder, father to Lyris. My spirit was torn from its rest and brought to this foul place. The Daedra force me to experience my own murder, again and again. I thought my torment never end." He replies.

Alva side glances at Lyris, who looks at the ghost with such pain in her eyes it puts a knot in Alva's stomach. "They're using you to keep Lyris shackled to Coldharbour."

"I don't understand. Lyris was always a free spirit. Why would my presence bind her?"

Alva glances again, not sure she should be the one saying this, but figuring there is no way Lyris will be saying it herself, Alva decides to do it anyway. "She... she blames herself for your death."

The ghost moves his gaze to his daughter, and only now Lyris seems to snap out it. Alva steps aside, moving away a respectable distance so they can talk. After a moment, the ghost dissipates, leaving the women alone in the rubble of the house. They share one knowing look and continue.

Once they go through another door, they're suddenly in an Imperial Encampment. Three Imperials stand together at the far end of the clearing, Alva crouches down and Lyris soon follows. "It's my old mercenary camp." Lyris whispers suddenly, remembering what it used to look like. "Varen was our commander."

"Varen Aquilarios, right?" Alva asks.

Lyris looks at her with a stunned expression. "You— you know him?"

"No, I don't. But the Prophet showed me a memory of him. And you. And the other Companions. And the Soulburst."

Lyris blinks a few times, not entirely knowing how to respond to that. She draws her attention back to the camp and just continues. "We were trying to free the empire from the yoke of the Longhouse Emperors." She pauses to take a deep breath. "I tried to be a good soldier, but the rest of the unit..."

"What about them?" Alva asks.

Lyris lowers her gaze to the ground in what, looks like to be, shame. "They treated me like a freak. I think they were afraid of me. They liked to hide my armor so I'd fail inspection. Bastards. In a camp full of people, I never felt so alone."

Alva looks out over the camp, and when her gaze falls upon the Imperials a few ways further, she narrows her eyes at them. Someone's going to get a thorough ass whooping. Then, noticing it for the first time, she sees three large footlockers scattered around the clearing. A thought crosses her mind and without saying anything she sneaks towards the one which is located at the left side of the camp.

Carefully, Alva pries it open and finds Lyris's greaves. Then, going to the other two footlockers at the other side of the camp, she finds Lyris's gauntlets and eventually also her breastplate. Bringing the pieces of armor back to Lyris, the giant smiles in awe. "I can't believe it! This armor is who I am. It's _what_ I am. A warrior without her armor is like a bear without claws."

"Come on, suit up." Alva smiles, looking hastily over her shoulder for the Imperials. It only takes a short moment for Lyris to get changed. She discards her prison rags to the ground and changes into her armor. Seeing her like this really does a thing or two to Alva.

Lyris catches het staring. "What is it?" She asks with a giggle, causing Alva to lose her mind completely.

The Elf shakes her head, snapping out of it. "Nothing." She shrugs and turns her attention back to the camp. "Are you ready to kick some Imperials in the kneecaps?"

Alva and Lyris make quick work of defeating the Imperials. And just like the Nord in the graveyard, these men change into Daedra after receiving the first blow. Not that it mattered, really. Or maybe it matters a little. Seeing their faces always seem to strengthen Alva's attacks.

Through the next door they reach the Paths of Toil, it's another tunnel filled with Daedra which eventually leads to the Clannfear Roost. The women take a few steps forward, a chill wind wafts through the clearing, sending a shiver down Alva's spine. The two of them proceed cautiously until Alva stops and frowns deeply.

Lyris follows her gaze, and from the moment she sees it, her slow steps change into a run. "Abnur Tharn, you traitorous bastard!" She curses, approaching his projection. "I should have expected to find you here."

"Don't be a fool, Titanborn." He replies, now Alva has joined her side. She looks up at the projection, curiosity blooming in her chest. "I'm trying to help you. Your hatred poisons you!"

Alva and Lyris stands shoulder to shoulder, both looking up at Tharn. While Alva's expression is one of curiosity, Lyris's expression is one of pure hatred. The half-giant is trembling, what possibly could be of fury, and because the women stand so close to each other, Alva feels it. She moves her gaze from Abnur to Lyris, and she wraps her hand around her lower arm. Slowly she trails down until her hand find Lyris's and intertwine their fingers.

First, Lyris's tenses up at this sudden contact, but she relaxes and eventually that deadly scowl on her face softens as well. "Help me?" She echoes. "You betrayed us all, then went back to licking Mannimarco's boot before the smoke cleared!"

"I did what I had to." Abnur replies. His projection moves closer, and on instinct Alva comes to stand in front of Lyris. Although it's a rather silly attempt since Lyris is easily head and shoulders taller than the Elf, she can't help but smile softly at the gesture. "And, as a show— what is this?" Abnur has noticed the move as well and looks now straight at Alva. "Who might you be?"

"So we meet at last, Chancellor Tharn." Alva replies confidently, her eyes never leaving his.

"Have we met? You know my name and yet I do not yours."

"We have, in a way. I came to know of you because of the Prophet."

"Hmm." Is all he responds to that. "Anyway, as a show of my good intentions. I have a gift for you, Titanborn. But be warned, Coldharbour will not give it up, easily."

After that, Abnur Tharn disappears and a few ways further, in the middle of a Deadric mark on the ground, they see a weapon. "Is that...? Shor's bones, it is! Alva, that's my battle axe!" Lyris says in disbelief.

"Let's go and get it, then." Alva smiles and runs towards it. Only, when they're a few steps away from it, an ancient looking Clannfear steps into view, obscuring their path towards the battle axe. "Coldharbour really isn't willing to give it up easily." Alva sighs. "Alright. Get behind me." She says next, ushering Lyris to get behind her while her eyes are still glued on the beast.

Lyris raises her eyebrows at that, but she complies nonetheless. "What happened to make you so ready for battle?" She asks.

"Way too much has happened. I'll tell you everything about it when we get back to the Prophet."

"I will keep you to that."

"Now, I'll distract him and you get your axe." Alva smiles before she charges forward. The Clannfear growls and prepares himself to pounce. Seeing this, Alva moves her feet and in a rolling motion she dodges it. Moving quickly, she gets back to her feet and retaliates with a swing of her sword. It collides with the beast its back, leaving a bleeding cut.

The Clannfear swirls around, and using its tail, it slams into Alva, knocking the wind out of her. "Alva!" Lyris yells, causing the Clannfear to turn its attention on her. The beast screeches and with its outstretched paws and its bare teeth, it runs towards Lyris. The Nord prepares herself, and since her battle axe is still out of reach, she has to do it with her fists.

Then, the Clannfear pounces again. Lyris's heart races as she braces herself, she widens her stance and raises her fists and the moment she draws her arm back for a punch, a glowing golden rope gets wrapped around the Clannfears neck. Still mid-air due to its pounce, the beast gets thrown off course, straight into a pillar at the other side of the clearing. Temporarily knocked out. Lyris moves her gaze from the beast towards Alva, who stands there with the golden rope still in hand.

"What are you waiting for?" Alva asks. "Get your axe!"

Lyris smiles and rushes towards her axe. She pulls it out of the ground and gives it a few practiced swings. "It's good to have you back." She says, admiring the blade. "Are you thirsty for Daedric blood, old friend?"

"It's nice to see you smile." Alva remarks, causing Lyris to smile even more.

"Yeah, it feels so good to have it back. It's a part of me. Losing it was like losing an arm."

"Why would Tharn try to help you, you think?" The Elf asks next.

The smile fades. "I don't know. I don't trust him and I never will. But it's odd. The blind hatred I felt when I saw him? I could have strangled him with my bare hands. But now... I think he was right. That hatred was poisoning me."

"How do you feel, now?"

"Better. Stronger. Almost whole again. Isn't it strange? I feel powerful enough to take on Umaril the Unfeathered, himself! I feel... like a warrior again!"

Hearing this, Alva feels excitement blooming into her chest. She can't stop herself from jumping up and down. "Yes, that's more like it!" She exclaims and gives Lyris a high five. And just as suddenly, she stops and looks around with a confused look on her face. "So, now what?"

"Well, we're not done yet. We need to keep moving forward. The passage is blocked by a rock of slide, but now that I have my axe back, I might be able to break through it."

They move towards the end of the clearing where the rocks block their path. "Stand back. No damned pile of pebbles is going to stop me now!" Lyris says, and to Alva's surprise the Nord uses her bare fist to punch the pile of rocks, successfully clearing the path. When they advance, they come into another tunnel. With even more Daedra. And at the end, another door. Now stepping into the Prison of Echoes, they are in a tunnel that goes every which way, leaving it hard for them to decided where to go.

"Did you hear that?" Lyris asks suddenly, swiveling her head around in search of the source.

"Hear what?" Alva asks, looking around as well.

"That sounded like... no, it couldn't be." Lyris says next, running into the direction of the sound.

"Lyris, where are you going?" Reaching the end of the hallway, they enter a chamber. In the middle is a round raised dais, surrounded by large candle holders. On top of the dais is another projection, but this time it's the one of Sai Sahan.

"Sai!" Lyris breathes in disbelief. "What's happened to you? What have they done?"

"Lyris!" Sai replies in equal disbelief. "Lyris, I can see you! Are you really there?"

"Sai, it's me! We're seeing some kind of vision of you. Do you know where you are?"

Alva follows the conversation attentively. Her eyes moving back and forth between Lyris and Sai until at some point the Redguard disappears. "Sai?" Lyris says. "Sai! No! Bring him back, you bastards!"

"Lyris?" Alva says hesitantly. The Nord whirls around at the sound of her voice with a surprised expression on her face as if she had forgotten all about her. "That was no trick." She says. "That was Sai Sahan! We need to find him and get him out of there."

"I know. And I promise we _will_ , but first we need to find a way to get out of this mess ourselves." After some more adventuring through the halls of Coldharbour, the women eventually end up in the Crucible of Terror.

Alva proceeds confidently, but only one step in there and Lyris stops short. The Elf turns to look over her shoulder, wondering why she has stopped when she sees a hint of fear in Lyris's eyes. "What's the matter?" Alva asks, joining her side again.

"Something's wrong" Lyris replies. "All the doubt, the fear, the loneliness... it's all coming back!"

"Hey." Alva says in a soft voice, reaching out and holding her hand. Lyris's gaze moves from the surroundings towards the Elf. "It's going to be okay. I'm here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you." This seems to calm her down enough to continue.

Alva still holds Lyris's hand when they walk through the chamber. The pass a large statue of Molag Bal, and Alva looks up at it. What is with this place? Although it was Lyris who has been torn apart, Alva can't help but feel odd as well.

Then, they walk through a gate. There is a terrible tremble and a few ways further, another Daedric mark starts to light up in a green color before it explodes. Debris flies around, and soon after, a Watcher ascends from the pit. "Stendarr defend us!" Lyris says, her grip around Alva's hand tightens. "It's the source of all my fears! I can hear it whispering to me. Taunting me."

Alva side glances at Lyris. "It's okay. We're going to be okay." Then she steps forward. With its one eye and way too many tentacles to Alva's likings, this is one of the biggest Daedric beasts they faced yet. And since it levitates high above the ground, it will be hard to deal damage with her sword.

"I... I can't." Lyris says, now totally consumed by fear.

Alva holds out her hand and a ball of fire sputters to life while the Watcher moves closer towards them. "Of course, you can. You're Lyris Titanborn. You can do anything!" Alva replies and pushes her hand forward, the ball of fire collides with one of its tentacles. And so, the battle begins.

While Alva and the Watcher are fighting one and another, Lyris is still frozen to the spot. Her heart is about to beat out of her chest and her breathing is hard and uneven. She feels cold and dizzy, like she's about to collapse anytime. She wants to get the hell out of there, but where would she go? It doesn't matter, everywhere is better than here. The idea of truly bolting out of there tickles her mind, she even finds herself motioning her feet to run. But then Lyris's stomach drops. What is she doing? What is she _thinking_? She can't leave now, not when Alva literally went back to this hell place to free her.

Lyris's eyes snap towards the Elf. She's fighting so hard, so confidently. Her lips part as a dawning realization falls upon her. Alva is literally fighting Lyris's fear for her. Tears start to swell in her eyes. This Elf right here— "Lyris, watch out!" Alva yells suddenly, and when she snaps out of her thoughts, Lyris sees a beam of green lightning charging towards her. Her eyes widen, fear keeps her frozen to the spot. But right when the beam is going to hit her, Alva jumps in front of her. She throws her arms out and creates a shield. Alva growls out of effort, but luckily the shield holds.

When the beam dies down, Alva retaliates with a few punches. And with each punch, a streak of divine fire burst forth and hits the beast. Eventually her punches grow weaker due to fatigue, but this is not going to stop her from finishing the fight. Not when they're so close. Alva and the Watcher continue, each dealing blows and each receiving blows until at some point Alva holds up her hand again. Only, this time it's not a ball of fire she conjures, but a javelin.

It's large and it glows a radiant golden color which is so bright the whole chamber lights up because of it. Gathering all her strength, Alva throws it at the Watcher. The javelin hits the Daedra right in its eye, it screeches and twitches until it falls to the ground.

Alva breathes out and falls to the ground as well. She lands on her hands and knees and she truly needs a moment to catch her breath. "Alva, you did it!" Lyris says and kneels down next to her. She cradles the Elf's weak form in her arms and brushes away her hair out of her face. "The voices... the whispering... it's gone."

Alva fights against unconsciousness, but she smiles nonetheless. "That's... good."

"This whole time, it was like watching myself from a distance. I felt... disconnected. But now, this is the best I've felt in years. Like I've been reborn! And I owe it all to you. Thank you." Lyris blinks away tears and plants a kiss on top of Alva's head. Alva's smile fades as her head drops against Lyris's shoulder.

The Nord holds her a moment longer until, at the top of the stairs, a portal opens. Lyris recognizes the Prophet's magic immediately. She picks up Alva and walks towards it, and once she steps through it, they're back in the Harborage.

"Prophet!" Lyris smiles.

"Lyris, child!" The Prophet breathes relieved, then realizing he only hears Lyris's footsteps, he creases his brow in worry. "Where's the Vestige?" He asks, and when she doesn't reply he tries again. "Lyris, where is Alva?"

"She's right here, I'm holding her. But Prophet, she is..." Lyris says with her voice on the verge of breaking.

"No." The Prophet says with an awful feeling of dread at the pit of his stomach. "Don't tell me she's..."

"She's hurt. Badly hurt." She replies softly.

"Let me see her." He says and beckons Lyris to come closer. The Prophet places his hand on Alva's head and he closes his eyes, working his magic. "She's hurt indeed... but she'll live. With plenty of rest she will be just fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking your time and hopefully I will see you next time!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter Five of The Vestige!

Days after Alva and Lyris returned from Coldharbour, Alva is almost fully recovered. She was unconscious for the first three days, but after she woke up and ate plenty and slept even more, she quickly got better. Now she can walk on her own again and she doesn’t feel like every single bone in her body’s broken. Alva still has some spectacular bruises, but the Prophet says that with a bit more rest she will be as good as new. And he was right, because soon after that, the Altmer is already making some sweet rolls again. Even more than last time since there is an extra mouth to feed. 

“Aren’t you supposed to rest?” Lyris asks, hovering over Alva like a worried mother. 

“I’ve had plenty of time to rest.” Alva replies, waving her hand dismissively before she continues kneading the dough. “Besides, I’m feeling just fine.”

“Hmm.” Lyris responds, not entirely convinced about it. “Are you sure?” Alva gives her a look and the Nord holds up her hands in mocking surrender. “Okay, okay. It’s just...” Lyris sighs and sits down on a chair next to the fire. “It’s not every day someone voluntarily goes back to Coldharbour for me to search for a way out, help me overcome my fears— _ fight  _ my fears for me, successfully escapes and gets to live.”

“And I would gladly do it all over again if I have to.” The Elf replies flatly, not even looking up from her work. 

Lyris looks over at the Prophet, who’s gaze is also turned into Lyris’s direction. They both bare the same half stunned, half touched expression on their faces. “I... I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Lyris manages to say after a moment of silence.

“And why is that?” Alva asks.

“Why would you go through so much trouble, go to such great lengths, for  _ me _ . You don’t even truly know me.”

“I do know you, you’re Lyris Titanborn.” 

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” Alva replies, and the women smile at each other, knowing well enough they might have had the same conversation back in Coldharbour.

Later that day, when Alva finally managed to assure Lyris she’s completely fine, she exits the Harborage. She's been inside for over a week now, it’s about time to get some fresh air. The Elf finds herself walking towards Vulkhel Guard, but she stops short when she sees an Elven Watch Captain standing beside the stairs. She completely forgot! Razum-Dar asked her to report to Watch Captain Astanya, so she in turn can send word to Queen Ayrenn. Alva quickly smooths down her hair, and wipes of the dirt from her armor before she confidently strides over towards the Captain... 

Why is it, that whenever Alva is set up with the task to talk with someone, she ends up in a cell? She’s laying down, her back pressed against the cold ground. With a pained grunt she rubs the back of her head, while blinking away the blur in front of her eyes. 

What has happened now for her to end up in this situation? She spoke with Captain Astanya, this she remembers. Then, she went to help Advisor Norion and found deployment plans for the speech the Queen is planning to make. Next, she helped Steward Eminwe with checking the warehouses for any infected food. Alva was minding her own business checking the crates when a soldier suddenly started attacking her. She definitely didn’t expect this to happen, so when she turned around, she might have received a kick in her stomach which left her breathless for a second, but in the end, she got the upper hand and managed to get rid him.

Hmm, then what? Frowning deeply, and hurting her head by doing so, Alva then remembers she returned to Astanya, but she had cut her short.  _ Rude _ . Anyway, she was directed towards a new development. A wanted Altmer with valuable information had walled himself inside a house, threatening to kill himself should anyone approach. After some negotiation and persuasion, the Altmer let Alva in, and so allowed the guard to sneak in behind her. The information she received from that High Elf— his name was Fasion, Alva now remembers— was kind of unsettling; Captain Astanya was the danger to the queen, not him. He said she’s part of a group called the Veiled Herritance, and bribed guards to help with her plot to assassinate the queen— 

Alva gives a start and sits up immediately. Astanya arrested her! That’s why she’s in this cell. All this time Alva was holding on to the secret documents and the poisoned meat, which was ‘evidence’ to prove the others she was up to no good. Watch Captain Astanya then knocked her out and arrested her. Oh, that little piece of— 

“Raz must admit.” Alva hears suddenly, and when she turns, Razum-Dar stands outside the prison door. “Even he did not think we’d be seeing each other again so soon. How are you my friend?”

“Raz!” Alva breathes and hurries to get back on her feet, she stumbles forward but she catches herself on the bars of her door. Her head is pounding and the world is spinning, but the delight she feels due to seeing a friendly face, she quickly forgets about it. “What are you doing here?” 

“He is here to help, as always!” He replies. “You may have noticed your new friend Fasion lies dead on the ground behind you. Raz knew Fasion well. As he thought he did Astanya.” 

In fact, Alva didn’t notice... not until the cat mentioned it. “What happened to him?” She asks.

“The captain happened. Fasion and Raz worked together, as agents of the Queen. Fasion was not willing to give up secrets. And so now Fasion is dead.” 

“I’m sorry, Raz.” Alva says, frowning in a saddened fashion. 

“Now, Raz will let you free. But on this island, he must ask your aid again. You must warn the Queen, and her Battlereeve.” Alva freezes and takes a step back. She shakes her head and starts fidgeting her hands nervously, earning a strange look from the Khajiit. “I— I can’t.” She says. “I can’t warn the Queen.” 

“And why is that?” 

“The Queen and I...” Alva rubs her face tiredly; the feeling of shame flushes her cheeks. Many, many years ago Alva met Queen Ayrenn at the ceremony where she was going to be pronounced as a Divine Prosecutor. It was the moment she was about to prove her worth to her parents, but at the very last second, Alva backed out of it. She brought shame upon her family and denied the Queen. She denied  _ the Queen _ ! In front of the whole court! Elves have an outstanding memory; the Queen will surely remember her face and the disrespect she showed her. 

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Razum-Dar asks. 

“Yes!” Alva replies. 

“Watch Captain Astanya will attempt to murder the Queen at the temple. The Queen truly has other matters to worry about besides the fact you told her no so many years ago.” 

Alva sags her shoulders; she knows he his right though. She rests her forehead against a bar of the door, she closes her eyes and sighs. “Tell me what to do.” 

“You must get past the Captain’s men. Seek another of our lady’s agents, Eshaba . She stands watch in the marketplace, peddling her wares. Ask her for a souvenir of the First Marines, and she will set you on your path.” 

Okay, this part was easy. Soon after Razum-Dar freed her from the cell, Alva went straight to the market and acquired the souvenir he was talking about. It turned out to be a First Marines armor. An exact copy of the ones from the First Auridon Marines. This way Alva is able to slip past the guards unnoticed. Alva’s heart rate quickens when she sees the Queen and her guards standing there.

As the Elf approaches, she makes a beeline for the Battlereeve, turning her head a little so the Queen won’t be able to get a clear look at her face. Hearing approaching footsteps, the Battlereeve turns towards Alva. He narrows his eyes at her. “Explain yourself. What are you doing here?” 

Alva glances nervously at the Queen before she answers. “Keep your voice down, Battlereeve. Razum-Dar send me.” 

“Razum-Dar.” The Battlereeve repeats. “Yes, I know the name. You haven’t answered my question, though.”

Alva takes a step closer and she lowers her voice while turning away from the Queen just a little more. “There is a plot brewing to kill the Queen, Battlereeve.” 

If Battlereeve Urcelmo was shocked by the news, he sure as hell doesn’t express it. “Hmph. We’ve taken every precaution; the whole area is locked down. Watch Captain Astanya assured me.” 

“The Captain is the one behind it.” Alva replies. “She’s planning an ambush in the Temple.” 

“The Guard Captain? Absurd!” 

“A moment, Urcelmo.” The Queen says as she steps forward. “I would like to hear what this one has to say.”

“Queen Ayrenn, I fear for your safety. Please, disregard what was said—“ 

“Razum-Dar was mentioned.” The Queen interrupts. “He acts on my behalf. If you won’t investigate, I will.” 

“Apologies, my Queen. As you will.” Urcelmo replies. “You are a capable woman, but you must be wary.” Then he turns towards Alva. “You. Come with me.” 

Alva and Battlereeve Urcelmo head for the temple, and when they step inside, Steward Eminwe lays down on the ground, bleeding. Not hesitating one moment, Alva hurries to her side and kneels down next to her. Alva cradles the Stewards’ head gently in her hand while she uses the other to stop bleeding on her abdomen. Alva breathes in deeply, the palm of her hand, as well the area around where she’s pressing her hand on Eminwe’s stomach lights up in a golden glow.

Steward Eminwe’s eyes flutter open at the sudden contact. “You...” She breathes as she looks up at Alva. 

“It’s okay.” Alva says in a soothing tone of voice. “You’re going to be okay.”

“I’m sorry. I was wrong. I tried to stop them...” The steward struggles to reply. “Watch out, on... on the balcony— it’s Astanya. I-it’s a trap!” The Altmer’s face twitches in pain before her eyes widen, with all the strength she can muster, she pushes Alva away from her, before she gets hit in the chest with a flaming arrow. 

Alva falls on her back with a grunt and looks on in terror at the flaming dead Altmer in front of her, so many thoughts race through her mind, but Astanya’s voice snaps her out of it. “Urcelmo, I see you have met my latest toy.” She smiles menacingly, as she looks down on them from the balcony. 

“Astanya. Traitor!” The Battlereeve replies. “Come down here and face me.” 

“Our ‘Queen’ has betrayed us. I wanted her head, but I’ll settle for yours.” Astanya says. “Kill them!” With that said, assassins walk out of the shadows and starts attacking them. Alva immediately reaches for her sword, and together with Battlereeve Urcelmo, she manages to fight them off, until Astanya herself jumps down to join the fight. “I’ll have to take care of you myself.” 

A whole new battle erupts. The sound of clanging metal and grunts fill the temple. Although Alva might almost be fully recovered from her beating in the Foundry of Woe, she finds herself having trouble keeping up with the Watch Captain. She’s fast and she definitely knows how to use a sword. Urcelmo’s just as good, but not as fast. When he recovers from a blow, Astanya’s already dealing out another one which knocks him to the ground. 

The Captain raises her sword, readying herself to kill the Battlereeve when Alva attacks her with a fire blast. The Elf is exhausted, and her muscles strain from the fight, but she can’t stop now. Astanya turns towards her angrily, swinging her sword wildly at Alva, who in turn dodges or parries the blows. The Elves their swords clash loudly against each other, until Astanya miscalculated a move and ends up getting blasted against one of the Temple’s pillars. Before she gets the chance to get up again, Urcelmo uses his sword to pierce right through her chest. Watch Captain Astanya breathes in sharply, her eyes widen for a moment before her eyelids droop shut. 

With a shaking hand Alva wipes off the blood that’s running over her chin from her split lip. She exchanges a look with Urcelmo before the two of them exit the tower again, leaving Astanya’s dead body on the ground. As they approach the Queen, Urcelmo nods his head in her direction, silently telling Alva she’s the one who needs to tell the Queen what happened. Panic rises in her chest, she’s still shaking because of what happened, but when she locks eyes with the Queen, all her doubts seem to vanish and she steps forward confidently. 

“Well?” Ayrenn says. “What did my protectors find?” 

“The plot was real.” Alva replies. “We fought Astanya and her assassins, and won.” 

“I can see that.” The Queen says with the smallest hint of a smile on her face as she looks at Alva’s lip where now another bruise is starting to form. “But, Astanya? I can’t believe it. No doubt Urcelmo will triple his watch. She truly was an agent of the Veiled Herritance?” 

“Yes, my Queen.” Alva says. “She said you had betrayed us.” 

“Betrayal? She turns against her people, after years of service? And she spoke of betrayal? She, obviously, could not be trusted. But you have proven your worth. What is your name?” 

“Alva Solaris, Your Majesty.” The Elf replies hesitantly, now lowering her eyes to the ground, waiting for the moment the Queen will realize who she is. 

“You know, Alva, the marines are blunt instruments.” Ayrenn continues, not even batting an eye at her name. “A Queen must have a lighter touch. You’ve met Razum-Dar, first in the Eyes of the Queen. Would you join him? You know, since becoming a Divine Prosecutor didn’t turn out for you, maybe you can try being an Eye of the Queen.” 

Alva’s head snaps up, causing the Queen to laugh quietly. Ayrenn’s eyes soften when they meet Alva’s again. “Despite your attempts of hiding your face from me, I knew who you were from the moment you approached us.” 

Alva grimaces. “You did?” 

The Queen laughs again, and puts her hand on Alva’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “After you left, the court was in complete chaos. The Divine Prosecution was furious, and not to speak of your parents, and the Proxy Queen? Her jaw fell to the floor.” Noticing the embarrassment on Alva’s face, the Queen smiles reassuringly at her. “It was a rather funny sight, if you ask me.” 

“So... you’re not angry with me?” Alva asks, not sure what to make of Ayrenn’s reaction. “Or offended by the way I acted toward you?” 

“Offended?” The Queen repeats, her brows knit in confusion. “Not in the slightest. You were withdrawn and truly uncomfortable, I saw how miserable you were that day. If I can be completely honest with you, I’m rather glad you denied to become a Prosecutor.”

“You are?” Alva asks, trying to hold back tears. That day is truly a memory she had been suppressing for so long. The hurt and embarrassment she saw in her parent's eyes before she left Alinor Castle is a vision that still haunts her dreams. It's also the last she saw from her parents. Ever. 

“Becoming part of the Divine Prosecution was a decision forced upon you, it’s not what you wanted. I saw that. But in the end, you made your own decision, and I believe it takes real courage to stand up for yourself like that. So, no. I’m not angry and you did not offend me.” The Queen smiles. Alva releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding in; she smiles in return although it wobbles a bit at the edges. “So, what do you say? Will you become an elite agent, for the good of the Dominion?”

Alva bows her head, now beaming. “I will. I accept your offer, my Queen.”

“Excellent! By the power I hold, I name you an agent in my employ. You are now an Eye of the Queen, bonded to my service. Auri-El keep you safe, and Xarxes guard your words.” The Queen says.

And after that, Alva heads back towards the Harborage. What a day... When she left the Harborage this morning, there was no way she would ever imagine she would return to it as an Eye of the Queen. Alva breathes out slowly as she’s strolling down the beach. Now that all the adrenaline of the day left her body, she feels the pulsing pain of her lip and the soreness in her muscles. Astanya really did a number on her, though, but at least she’s the one who’s still breathing.

Alva runs a hand through her hair, she’s feeling rather satisfied, though. And she feels as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. The Elf smiles softly at herself as she pushes open the door to the Harborage.

Lyris and the Prophet look up at the sound of her. Lyris is smiling, but that smile fades quickly when she sees the blood on her face and the tired look in her eyes. “Alva! What happened?” 

Alva sits down with a grunt, her back leaning against a boulder. She rests her head against it and she closes her eyes. “I stopped an assassination attempt on Queen Ayrenn.” She replies as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“You did what?” Lyris asks in disbelief, already kneeling down next to her to wipe off the blood from her chin.

“Queen Ayrenn?” The Prophet asks next. “The Queen of the Aldmeri Dominion?”

“That’s the one.” Alva replies. Her face twitches in pain by Lyris’s touch, then she shuffles to sit in a more comfortable position. “I also became an Eye of the Queen.” 

“Alva!” Lyris enters a fit of gibbering as she doesn’t know how to process this information. “This morning you said you were going out to get some fresh air, and you return as an Eye of the Queen?” The Vesitge merely shrugs, and after exchanging a look, they share a laugh. Lyris shakes her head, but she’s still smiling. “You are the most peculiar little thing; do you know that?” 

Alva makes a face and then she sticks out her tongue at Lyris, causing her to laugh again. The Nord continues to tend to her wounds while Alva explains to the two of them what exactly has happened that day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking your time and hopefully I will see you next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking your time and hopefully I will see you next time!


End file.
